JINNIE TRAVELS
Virginia took the direction leading to the station. Many a time she
had watched the trains rush by on their way to New York, but never in
those multitudinous yesterdays had it entered her mind that some day
she would go over that same way, to be gone possibly forever. The wind
was blowing at such a terrific rate that Jinnie could scarcely walk.
There was no fear in her heart, only deep solemnity and a sense of awe
at the magnificence of a storm. She had left the farmhouse so suddenly
that the loneliness of parting had not then been forced upon her as it
was now; the realization was settling slowly upon the clouded young
mind.
She was a mere puppet in the hands of an inexorable fate, which had
shown her little mercy or benevolence.
Out of sight of the Merriweather homestead, she kept to the path along
the highway, now and then shifting the pail from one hand to the
other, and clasping the beloved fiddle to her breast. Once she looked
down to find Milly Ann peeping above the rim of the pail. Jinnie could
see the glint of her greenish eyes. She stopped and, with a tenderly
spoken admonition, covered her more closely with the roller towel.
When the lighted station-house glimmered through the falling snow,
Jinnie sighed with relief.
"I couldn't 've carried you and the fiddle much farther, Milly Ann,"
she murmured.
At that moment a tall figure, herculean in size, loomed out of the
night and advanced hastily. The man's head was bent forward against
the storm. Virginia caught a glimpse of his face as he passed in the
streak of light thrown out from the station.
He sprang to the platform and disappeared in the doorway. Jinnie saw
him plainly when she, too, entered, and her eyes followed him as he
went out.
She had never seen him before. Like the man in the Merriweather
kitchen, he bore the stamp of the city upon him.
Virginia bought her ticket as her father had directed, and while the
pail was still on the floor, she bent to examine Milly Ann and the
kittens. The latter were asleep, but the mother-cat lazily opened her
eyes to greet, with a purr, the soft touch of Jinnie's fingers. The
girl waited inside the room until the shriek of the engine's whistle
told her of its approach; then, with the fiddle and the pail, she
walked to the platform.
The long, snakelike train was edging the hill, its headlight bearing
down the track in one straight, glittering line.
For the first time in her life, Jinnie felt really afraid. In other
days, with beating heart, she had hugged close to the roadside as the
monster slipped either into the station and stopped, or rushed around
the curve. Tonight she was going aboard, over into a strange land
among strange people.
She tilted the pail lovingly and hugged a little more tightly the
fiddle in her arm. Whatever happened, she had Milly, her little
family, and the comforting music. Jinnie could never be quite alone
with these. As the train slowed up, the conductor jumped down.
It seemed to Virginia like a dream as she walked toward the steps at
the end of the car. As she was about to lift her foot to climb up, she
heard a voice say:
"Let me help you, child. Here, I'll take the pail."
Virginia looked upward into the face of a man,--the same face she had
seen in the station a few moments before,--and around the handsome
mouth was a smile of reassuring kindliness.
She surrendered the pail with a burning blush, and felt, with a
strange new thrill, a firm hand upon her arm. The next thing she knew
she was in a seat, with the pail on the floor and the fiddle lying
beside her.
She gazed around wonderingly. There was no one in sight but the tall
man who, across the aisle, was arranging his overcoat on the back of
the seat. Jinnie looked at him with interest--he had been so kind to
her--and noted his thick, blond hair, which had been cropped close to
a massive head. She admired him, too. Suddenly he looked up, and the
girl felt a clutch at her heart. Just why that happened she could not
tell. Again came the charming smile, the parted lips showing a set of
dazzling white teeth.
Jinnie smiled back, responsively. The man came over.
"May I sit beside you?" he asked.
Jinnie moved the fiddle invitingly and huddled herself into the
corner. When the man started to move the pail, Jinnie stayed him.
"Oh, don't, please," she protested. "It's only Milly and----"
"Milly and what?" quizzically came the question.
"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 naïvely.
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 ejaculated, "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."