Jinnie couldn't have told, but she was sure the fiddle knew. It was intoning to Lafe--to her--the language of the birds and the mystery of the flower blossoms, the invisible riddles of Heaven and earth, of all the concealed secrets beyond the blue of the sky; all the panorama of Nature strung out in a wild, sweet forest song. Jinnie had backed against the wall as she played, and when out of her soul came the twitter of the morning birds, the babbling of the brook on its way to the sea, the scream of the owl in a high woodland tree, Lafe turned to watch her, and from that moment until she dropped exhausted into a chair, he did not take his eyes from her.
"Jinnie!" he gasped, as he thrust forth his hand and took hers. "You've made me happier to-day'n I've been in many a week. Peg'll be all right.... Everybody'll be all right.... God bless us!"
Jinnie sat up with bright, inquiring eyes.
"Did you tell Peg I was to know about----"
"About our baby?" intervened Lafe tenderly.
He dwelt lovingly on those precious words.
"Yes, about your baby," repeated Jinnie.
"Yes, I told 'er, dear. I said you'd want to be happy too."
"I'm so glad," sighed Jinnie, reverently. "Look!... Peg's coming now!"
They both watched Mrs. Grandoken as she stolidly crossed the tracks, leading Bobbie by the hand.
And later Jinnie hovered over Peggy in the kitchen. The woman had taken on such a new dignity. She must be treated with the greatest and most extra care. If Jinnie had done what she craved, she'd have bounded to Peg and kissed her heartily. Of course that wouldn't do, but talk to her she must, "Peggy," she said softly, tears lurking in her eyes.
Peg looked at her without moving an eyelash. Jinnie wished she would say something; her task would be so much easier.
"Peggy," she begged again.
"Huh?"
"Lafe told me, dear," and then she did something she hadn't done with Lafe; she began to cry, just why, Jinnie didn't know; Peg looked so sad, so distant, and so ill.
It was probably Jinnie's tears that softened Peg, for she put her hand on the girl's shoulders and stood silent. After the first flood of tears Jinnie ventured: "I'm awful happy, Peggy dear, and I want you to know I'm going to work harder'n I even did for Blind Bobbie.... I will, Peg, I promise I will.... Kiss me, Oh, kiss me, dear!"
Peggy bent over and kissed the upturned, tearful face solemnly. Then she turned her back, beginning to work vigorously, and Jinnie returned to the shop with the kiss warm on her cheek.