WHAT HAPPENED TO JINNIE
With a sigh Jinnie allowed Lafe to buckle the shortwood strap to her
shoulder. Oh, how many days she had gone through a similar operation
with a similar little sigh!
It was a trying ordeal, that of collecting and selling kindling wood,
for the men of Paradise Road took the best of the shortwood to be
found in the nearer swamp and marsh lands, and oftentimes it was
nearly noon before the girl would begin her sale.
But the one real happiness of her days lay in dropping the pennies she
earned into Peg's hand.
Now Peggy didn't believe in spoiling men or children, but one morning,
as she tied a scarf about Jinnie's neck, she arranged the black curls
with more than usual tenderness.
Pausing at the door and looking back at the woman, Jinnie suddenly
threw up her head in determination.
"I love you, Peggy," she said, drawing in a long breath. "Give me a
little kiss, will you?"
There! The cat was out of the bag. In another instant Jinnie would
know her fate. How she dared to ask such a thing the girl could never
afterwards tell.
If Peg kissed her, work would be easy. If she denied her----Peggy
glanced at her, then away again, her eyes shifting uneasily.
But after once taking a stand, Jinnie held her ground. Her mouth was
pursed up as if she was going to whistle. Would Peg refuse such a
little request? Evidently Peggy would, for she scoffingly ordered.
"Go along with you, kid--go long, you flip little brat!"
"I'd like a kiss awful much," repeated Jinnie, still standing. Her
voice was low-toned and pleading, her blue eyes questioningly on Peg's
face.
Peg shook her head.
"I won't kiss you 'cause I hate you," she sniffed. "I've always hated
you."
Jinnie's eyes filled with tears.
"I know it," she replied sadly, "I know it, but I'd like a kiss just
the same because--because I _do_ love _you_, Peg."
A bit of the same sentiment that had worried her for over a year now
attacked Mrs. Grandoken. Her common sense told her to dash away to the
kitchen, but a tugging in her breast kept her anchored to the spot.
Suddenly, without a word, she snatched the girl close to her broad
breast and pressed her lips on Jinnie's with resounding smacks.
"There! There! And _there_!" she cried, between the kisses. "An' if y'
ever tell a soul I done it, I'll scrape every inch of skin off'n your
flesh, an' mebbe I'll do something worse, I hate y' that bad."
In less seconds than it takes to tell it, Peg let Jinnie go, and the
girl went out of the door with a smiling sigh.
"Kisses 're sweeter'n roses," she murmured, walking to the track. "I
wish I'd get more of 'em."
She turned back as she heard Peg's voice calling her.
"You might toddle in an' bring home a bit of sausage," said the woman,
indifferently, "an' five cents' worth of chopped steak."
Mrs. Grandoken watched Jinnie until she turned the corner. She felt a
strangling sensation in her throat.
A little later she flung the kitchen utensils from place to place, and
otherwise acted so ugly and out of temper that, had Lafe known the
whole incident, he would have smiled knowingly at the far-off hill and
held his peace.
Late in the afternoon Jinnie counted seventeen pennies, one dime and a
nickel. It was a fortune for any girl to make, and what was better
yet, buckled to her young shoulders in the shortwood strap was almost
her next day's supply. As she replaced the money in her pocket and
walked toward the market, she murmured gravely,
"Mebbe Peg's kisses helped me to get it, but--but I musn't forget
Lafe's prayers."
Her smile was radiant and self-possessed. She was one of the world's
workers and loved Lafe and Peg and the world with her whole honest
young heart.
"Thirty-two cents," she whispered. "That's a pile of money. I wish I
could buy Lafe a posy. He does love 'em so, and he can't get out like
Peg and me to see beautiful things."
She stopped before a window where brilliant blossoms were exhibited.
Ever since she began to work, one of the desires of Jinnie's soul had
been to purchase a flower. As she scrutinized the scarlet and white
carnations, the deep red roses, and the twining green vines, she
murmured.
"Peg loves Lafe even if she does bark at him. She won't mind if I buy
him one. I'll make more money to-morrow."
She opened the door of the shop and drew her unwieldy burden carefully
inside. A girl stood back of the counter.
"How much're your roses?" asked Jinnie, nodding toward the window and
jingling the pennies in her pocket.
"The white ones're five cents a piece," said the clerk, "and the red
ones're ten.... Do y' want one?"
"I'll take a white one," replied the purchaser.
"Shall I wrap it in paper?" asked the other.
"No, I'll carry it this way. I'd like to look at it going home."
The girl passed the rose to Jinnie.
"It smells nice, too," she commented.
"Yes," assented Jinnie, delightedly, taking a whiff.
Then she went on to the meat market to buy the small amount of meat
required for the three of them.
One of the men grinned at her from the back of the store, calling,
"Hello, kid!" and Maudlin Bates, swinging idly on a stool, shouted,
"What's wanted now, Jinnie?" and still another man came forward with
the question, "Where'd you get the flower, lass?"
"Bought it," replied Jinnie, leaning against the counter. "I got it
next door for the cobbler. He's lame and can't get out."
The market man turned to wait upon her.
"Five cents' worth of chopped meat," ordered Jinnie, "and four
sausages."
"Ain't you afraid you'll overload your stomachs over there at the
cobbler's shop?" laughed one of the men. "I'll tell you what I'll do,
Jinnie ... Do you see that ring of sausage hangin' on that hook?"
The girl nodded wonderingly, looking sidewise at Maudlin.
"Well, if you'll give us a dance, a good one, mind you, still keepin'
the wood on your back, I'll buy you the hull string. It'll last a week
the way you folks eat meat."
Jinnie's face reddened painfully, but the words appealed to her
money-earning spirit, and with a curious sensation she glanced around.
Could she dance, with the wondering, laughing, admiring gaze of the
men upon her? And Maudlin, too! How she detested his lustful, doltish
eyes!
She straightened her shoulders, considering. The wood was heavy, and
the strap, bound tightly about her chest and arms, made her terribly
tired. But a whole string of sausage was a temptation she could not
withstand. In her fertile imagination she could see Lafe nod his
approbation, and Peggy joyously frying her earnings in the pan. She
might even get three more kisses when no one was looking.
"I don't know what to dance," she said presently, studying the rose in
her confusion.
"Oh, just anything," encouraged the man on the stool. "I'll whistle a
tune."
"Hand her the sausage, butcher;" sniggered Maudlin, "then she'll be
sure of it. The feel of it'll make her dance better."
The speaker grinned as the butcher took the string from the hook.
Jinnie slipped the stem of the cobbler's rose between her white teeth,
grasped the sausage in one hand and gripped the shortwood strap with
the other. Then the man started a rollicking whistle, and Jinnie took
a step or two.
Every one in the place drew nearer. Here was a sight they never had
seen--a lovely, shy-eyed, rosy, embarrassed girl, with a load of
kindling wood on the strong young shoulders, turning and turning in
the center of the market. In one hand she held a ring of sausage, and
between her lips a white rose.
"If you'll give us a grand fine dance, lass," encouraged the butcher,
"you c'n have the chopped meat, too."
The man's offer sifted through Jinnie's tired brain and stimulated her
to quicker action. She turned again, shifting the weight more squarely
on her shoulders, her feet keeping perfect time with the shrill,
whistling tune.
"Faster! Faster!" taunted Maudlin. "Earn your meat, girl! Don't be a
piker!"
Faster and faster whirled Jinnie, the heft of the shortwood carrying
her about in great circles. Her cap had fallen from her head, loosing
the glorious curls, and her breath whistled past the stem of Lafe's
white flower like night wind past a taut wire.
Jinnie forgot everything but the delight of earning something for her
loved ones--something that would bring a caress from Lafe. She was
sure of Lafe, very sure!
As voices called "Faster!" and still "Faster!" Jinnie let go the
shortwood strap to fling aside her curls. Just at that moment she
whirled nearer Maudlin Bates, who thrust forth his great foot and
tripped her. As she staggered, not one of those watching had sense
enough to catch her as she fell. At that moment the door swung open
and Peg Grandoken's face appeared. She looked questioningly at the
market man.
"I thought I saw Jinnie come in," she hesitated----
Then realizing something was wrong, her eyes fell upon the stricken
girl.
"She was just earnin' a little sausage by dancin'," the butcher
excused.
Peggy stared and stared, stunned for the moment. The hangdog
expression on Maudlin's face expressed his crime better than words
would have done. Jinnie's little form was huddled against the counter,
the shortwood scattered around her, and from her forehead blood was
oozing. On the slender arm was the ring of sausage and between her set
teeth was Lafe's pale rose. With her outraged soul shining in her
eyes, Peggy gathered the unconscious girl in her two strong arms.
"I bet _you_ done it, you damn Maudlin!" she gritted, and without
another word, left the market.
Within a few minutes she had laid Jinnie on her bed, and was telling
Lafe the pathetic story.