"Yourn, Peggy dear, and may G.o.d bless you!"

All through the night Jinnie had dreadful dreams. The thought of either not going to Mr. King's or that she might not have anything fit to wear filled the hours with nightmares and worryings. In the morning, after she crawled out of bed and was wearily dressing Bobbie, the little blind boy felt intuitively something was wrong with his friend.

"Is Jinnie sick?" he whispered, feeling her face. "My stars ain't shinin' much."

The girl kissed him.

"No, honey," she said, "Jinnie's only sad, not sick."

Together they went into the shop, where Peggy stood with the most gorgeous lacy stuff draped over her arms. Strewn here and there over the yards and yards of it were bright yellow and red roses. Nothing could have been more beautiful to the girl, as with widening eyes she gazed at it. Lafe's face was shining with happiness. Peggy didn't seem to notice the two as they entered, but she lifted the lace, displaying its length stolidly.

Jinnie bounded forward.

"What is it, Peg? What is it?"

Lafe beamed through his spectacles.

"A dress for you, girl dear. Peggy's givin' you the things she loves best. She's the only woman in the world, Jinnie."

Reverently Jinnie went to Mrs. Grandoken's side. She felt abjectly humble in the presence of this great sacrifice. She looked up into the glum face of the cobbler's wife and waited in breathless hesitation.

Peg permitted her eyes to fall upon the girl.

"You needn't feel so glad nor look's if you was goin' to tumble over,"

she said. "It ain't no credit to any one them curtains was on the shelf waitin' to be cut up in a dress for you to fiddle in. Go put the mush on that there stove!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE LITTLE FIDDLER

Jinnie's heart was skipping about like a silly little kitten as she sat watching Peg's stiff fingers making large st.i.tches in the lace.

"Oh, Peg, isn't it lovely? Perfectly beautiful! n.o.body ever had a dress like that!... My, Peggy! How your fingers fly!"

Peg's face was noncommittal to the point of blankness.

"Tain't no credit to me what my hands do, Miss Jinnie," she said querulously. "I didn't make 'em."

The girl's happiness was absolutely complete. The dress would be finished and Sunday evening----oh, Sunday evening! Then she walked restlessly to the window and studied the sky.

"I hope it doesn't rain to-morrow!... Oh, Peggy, don't you hope so too?" Mrs. Grandoken glowered at her.

"Kid," she said, "come away from that window. You been doin' nothin'

but wishin' 'twon't rain all day. You'll wear out the patience of the Almighty; then he'll make it rain an' soak you through a-purpose."

"I don't know which I like best, Lafe," the girl remarked presently, turning to the cobbler, "the red roses or the yellow."

Bobbie came to Jinnie's side and fingered the lace.

"Tell me how the dress looks, dear," he whispered, tugging at her sleeve.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "YOU NEEDN'T FEEL SO GLAD NOR LOOK AS IF YOU WAS GOIN' TO TUMBLE OVER. IT AIN'T NO CREDIT TO ANYONE THEM CURTAINS WAS ON THE SHELF WAITIN' TO BE CUT UP IN A DRESS FOR YOU TO FIDDLE IN."]

"Sure," agreed Jinnie. "Feel right here! Well, that's a beautiful red rose and here's a yellow one." She took his small finger and traced it over a yard of lace. "Feel that?"

"Yes," murmured Bobbie.

"Well, that's a green vine running up and down, and all around among the roses."

"Oh, my!" gasped Bobbie. "Red and yellow. That's how the sun looks when it's goin' down, ain't it? And green's like the gra.s.s, eh?"

"Just the same," replied Jinnie, laughing.

"It's a beauty," supplemented Lafe, glowing with tenderness. "There won't be a dress at that party that'll beat it."

Mrs. Grandoken shook out the voluminous folds of lace.

"Anybody'd think to hear you folks talk that you'd made these rag tags with your toe nails," she observed dryly. "The smacking of some folks'

lips over sugar they don't earn makes me tired! Laws me!... Now I'll try it on you, Jinnie," she ended.

Jinnie turned around and around with slow precision as Mrs. Grandoken ascertained the correct hanging of the skirt. When the last st.i.tches had been put in, and the dress lay in all its gorgeous splendor across the chair, Peg coughed awkwardly and spoke of shoes.

"You can't wear them cowhides with lace," said she.

"I might make a pair if I had a day and the stuff," suggested Lafe, looking around helplessly.

"Ain't time," replied Peg. And of course it was she who gave Jinnie some money taken from a small bag around her neck and ordered her to the shop for shoes.

"She ought to have a fiddle box," Lafe suggested.

"There ain't 'nough money in the house for that," replied Peg--"but I'll give her a piece of the curtains to wrap it up in."

"That'll look better'n a box," smiled Lafe. "I'm a happy cobbler, I am."

When Jinnie returned with a pair of low black slippers, no one noticed that they weren't quite what should have been worn with a lace frock.

Contentment reigned supreme in the Grandoken home that day.

Sunday evening at seven Jinnie displayed herself to Lafe. The cobbler gave a contented nod.

"You and the dress're beautiful," he ruminated. "Wonderful!... Kiss me, Jinnie!"

She not only kissed Lafe, but Bobbie, Happy Pete, and Milly Ann, too, came in for their share. Peg looked so sour, so forbidding, that Jinnie only faltered,