"Yes, and--please, what happened after I left?"

"Oh, he was buried, and the house is empty."

Molly forebore to mention Jordan Morse, and Jinnie's tongue refused to utter the terrifying name.

Presently the girl, with tears in her eyes, said softly:

"And Matty, old Matty?"

"Who's Matty?" interjected Molly.

"The black woman who took care of me. She lived with me for ever so long."

Molly didn't reply for some time. Then:

"I think she died; at least I heard she did."

A cold shudder ran over Jinnie's body. Matty then had gone to join those who, when they were called, had no choice but to answer. She leaned against the soft cushions moodily. She was harking back to other days, and Molly permitted her to remain silent for some time.

"You must have people of your own you could live with," she resumed presently. "It's wrong for a girl with your money----"

Jinnie's lovely mouth set at the corners.

"I wouldn't leave Lafe and Peggy for anybody in the world, not if I had relations, but I haven't."

"I thought--I thought," began Molly, pretending to bring to mind something she'd forgotten. "You have an uncle," she burst forth.

Jinnie grew cold from head to foot. Her father's words, "He won't find in you much of an obstacle," came to her distinctly.

"Does your uncle know where you are?"

This question brought the girl to the present.

"No. I don't want him to know, either. Not till--not till I'm eighteen."

"Why?"

Molly's tone was so cold and unsympathetic Jinnie regretted she had accepted her invitation to ride. But she need not be afraid; Lafe would keep her safe from all harm. Had she not tried out his faith and the angels' care with Maudlin Bates? However, she felt she owed some explanation to the woman at her side.

"My uncle doesn't like me," she stammered, calming her fear. "And Lafe loves me, Lafe does."

"How do you know your uncle doesn't love you?"

Thinking of Lafe's often repeated caution not to divulge her father's disclosure of Morse's perfidy, Jinnie remained quiet.

The birds above their heads kept up a shrill chatter. On ordinary occasions Jinnie would have listened to mark down in her memory a few notes to draw from her fiddle, but at this moment she was too busy looking for a proper explanation. Glancing sidelong at the woman's face and noting the expression upon it, she grew cold and drew into the corner. She would not dare----

"I almost think it's my duty to write your uncle," said Molly deliberately.

Jinnie gasped. She straightened and put forth an impetuous hand.

"Please don't! I beg you not to. Some day, mebbe, some day----"

"In the meantime you're living with people who can't take care of you."

"Oh, but they do, and Mr. King's helping me," faltered Jinnie. "Why, he'd do anything for me he could. He loves my fiddle----"

"Does he love you?" asked Molly, her heart beating swiftly.

"I don't know, but he's very good to me."

Molly with one hand carefully brushed a dead leaf from her skirt.

"Do you love him?" she asked, forcing casuality into her tone.

Did she love Theodore King? The question was flung at Jinnie so suddenly that the truth burst from her lips.

"Oh, yes, I love him very, very much----"

The machine started forward with a tremendous jerk. Jinnie gave a frightened little cry, but the woman did not heed her. The motor sped along at a terrific rate, and there just ahead Jinnie spied a lean barn-cat, crossing the road. She screamed again in terror. Still Molly sped on, driving the car straight over the thin, gaunt animal.

Jinnie's heart leapt into her mouth. All her great love for living things rose in stout appeal against this ruthless deed. She lifted her slight body and sprang up and out, striking the hard ground with a sickening thud. She sat up, shaking from head to foot. A short distance ahead Molly Merriweather was turning her machine. Jinnie crawled to the middle of the road, still dizzy from her fall. There, struggling before her, was the object for which she had jumped. The cat was writhing in distracted misery, and Jinnie picked him up in her arms. She was sitting on the ground when Molly, very pale, rolled back.

"You little fool! You silly little fool!" she exclaimed, leaping out.

"You might have been killed doing such a thing."

"You ran over the kitty," wept Jinnie, bowing her head.

"And what if I did? It's only a cat. Throw it down and come with me immediately."

Jinnie wasn't used to such sentiments. She got to her feet, a queer, rebellious feeling buzzing through her brain.

"I'm going to walk home," she said brokenly, "and take the kitty with me."

Saying this, she took off her jacket and wrapped it about the cat.

Molly glared at her furiously.

"You're the strangest little dunce I ever saw," she cried. "If you're determined to take the little beast, get in."

Molly was sorry afterward she had not let Jinnie have her way, for they had driven homeward but a little distance when she saw Theodore's car coming toward them. He himself was at the wheel, and waved good-naturedly. Molly reluctantly stopped her machine. The man looked in astonishment from the girl to the woman. He noticed Jinnie's white face and the long blue mark running from her forehead to her chin. Molly, too, wore an expression which changed her materially. He stepped to the ground and leaned over the edge of their car.

"Something happened?" he questioned, eyeing first one, then the other.

Molly looked down upon the girl, who was staring at Mr. King.

"I--I----" began Jinnie.

Molly made a short explanation.

"She jumped out of the car," she said. "I was just telling her she might have been killed."