"Her kitties--see?"

She drew aside the towel and exposed the sleeping family.

A broad smile lit up the man's face.

"Oh, cats! I see! Where're you taking them?"

"To Bellaire."

"Ah, Bellaire; that's where I'm going. We'll have a nice ride together, almost two hours."

"I'm glad." Jinnie leaned back, sighing contentedly.

In those few minutes she had grown to have great faith in this stranger, the third of the puzzling trio that had come into her life that night. First her father, then the man with Molly the Merry, and now this brilliant new friend, who quite took away her breath as she peeped up at him. His smile seemed to be ever ready. It warmed her and made her glow with friendliness. She liked, too, the deep tones in his voice and the sight of his strong hands as they gestured during his speeches.

"Where are you going in Bellaire?" he questioned.

Virginia cogitated for a moment. She couldn't tell the story her father had told her, yet she must answer his kindly question.

At length, "The cats and I are going to live with my uncle," said she.

"He lives in Bellaire?"

"Yes, but I've never seen him. I'll find him, though, when I get there."

It didn't occur to the man to ask the name of her relatives, and Jinnie was glad he did not.

"Perhaps I shall see you some time in the city," he responded to her statement. Jinnie hoped so; oh, how she hoped she might see him again!

"Mebbe," was all she said.

"You see I live there with my mother," continued the man. "Our home is called Kinglaire. My name is King."

Virginia lifted her head with a queer little start.

"I've read about your people," she said. "I've got a book in our garret that tells all about Kings."

"That's very nice," answered Mr. King. "I won't have to explain anything about us, then."

"No, I know," said Jinnie in satisfaction.

At least she thought she knew. Hadn't she read over and over, when seated in the garret, the story of the old and new kings, how they sat on their thrones, and ruled their people sometimes with a rod of iron?

Jinnie brought to mind some of the vivid pictures, and shyly lifted a pair of violet eyes to scan the face above her. Surely this King was handsomer than any in the book. She tried to imagine him on his throne, and wondered if he were always smiling as now.

"You're quite different from your relations," she observed presently.

Theodore King laughed aloud. The sound startled the girl into a straighter posture. It rang out so merrily that she laughed too after making up her mind that he was not ridiculing her.

"Really you are!" she exclaimed. "I mean it. You know the picture of the King with a red suit on,--he doesn't look like you. His nose went sort of down over his mouth--I mean, well, yours don't."

She stumbled through the last few words, intuitively realizing that she had been too personal.

"You like to read, I gather," stated Mr. King.

"Yes, but I like to fiddle better," said Jinnie.

"Oh, you play, do you?"

Jinnie's eyes fell upon the instrument standing in the corner of the opposite seat, wrapped in an old jacket. She nodded.

"I play some. I love my fiddle almost as much as I do Milly Ann and her kitties."

"Won't you play for me?" asked Mr. King, gravely putting forth his hand.

Jinnie paused a moment. Then without further hesitancy she took up the violin and unfastened it.

"I'll be glad to fiddle for a king," she said navely.

She did not speak as she turned and twisted the small white keys.

Outside the storm was still roaring over the hills, sweeping the lake into monstrous waves. The shriek of the wind mingled with the snap of the taut strings under the agile fingers of the hill girl. Then Jinnie began to play. Never in all his life had Theodore King seen a picture such as the girl before him made. The wondrous beauty of her, the marvelous fingers traveling over the strings, together with the moaning of the night wind, made an impression upon him he would never forget. Sometimes as her fingers sped on, her eyes were penetrating; sometimes they darkened almost to melancholy. When the last wailing note had finally died away, Jinnie dropped the instrument to her side.

"It's lonely on nights like this when the ghosts howl about," she observed. "They love the fiddle, ghosts do."

Theodore King came back to himself at the girl's words. He drew a long breath.

"Child," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "whoever taught you to play like that?"

"Why, I taught myself," answered Jinnie.

"Please play again," entreated Mr. King, and once more he sat enthralled with the wonder of the girl's melodies. The last few soulful notes Mr. King likened to a sudden prayer, sent out with a sobbing breath.

"It's wonderful," he murmured slowly. "What is the piece you've just played?"

"It hasn't any name yet," replied the girl. "You see I only know pieces that're in my head."

Then all the misery of the past few hours swept over her, and Jinnie began to cry. A burden of doubt had clouded the usually clear young mind. What if the man to whom she was going would not let her and the cats live with him? He might turn them away.

Mr. King spoke softly to her.

"Don't cry," said he. "You won't be lonely when you get to your uncle's."

But she met his smiling glance with a feeling of constraint. He did not know the cause of her tears; she could not tell him. If she only knew,--if she only had one little inkling of the reception she would receive at the painter's home. However, she did cheer up a little when Mr. King, in evident desire to be of some service, began to tell her of the city to which she was going.

In a short time he saw the dark head nodding, and he drew Jinnie down against his arm, whispering:

"Sleep a while, child; I'll wake you up at Bellaire."