Jinnie had been gone two weeks. Nearly every day the postman brought a letter from the girl to Peggy, and after reading it several times to herself, she gave it to Blind Bobbie. Mrs. Grandoken had discovered this was the way to keep him quiet.
One afternoon the boy sat on the front steps of the cobbler's shop, sunning himself.
"You can hear Jinnie better when she comes," said Peg, as an excuse to coax him out of doors. "Now sit there till I get back from the market."
Bobbie had Happy Pete in his arms when he heard strange footsteps walking down the short flight of steps. He lifted his head as he heard a voice speak his name.
"Bobbie," it said softly. "Are you Bobbie?"
"Yes," replied the boy tremblingly.
The soft voice spoke again. "Do you want to see Jinnie?"
Bobbie clutched Happy Pete with one arm and struggled up, holding out a set of slender fingers that shook like small reeds in a storm.
"Yes, I want to see 'er," he breathed. "Do you know where she is?"
"If you'll come along with me, I'll take you to her. Bring the dog if you like."
"I want to see her to-day," stated Bobbie.
Jordan Morse took Bobbie's hand in his.
"Come on then, and don't make a noise," cautioned the man. "Put down the dog; he'll follow you."
Once in Paradise Road, he stooped and lifted the slight boyish figure and walked quickly away. Beyond the turn in the road stood his car. He placed Bobbie and the dog on the seat beside him, and in another moment they were speeding toward the hill.
At that moment Jinnie was brooding over her violin. Her fiddle was her only comfort in the lonely hours. The plaintive tones she drew from it were the only sounds she heard, save the rushing water in the gorge and the thrashing of the trees when the wind blew. The minutes hung long on her hands, and the hours seemed to mock her as they dragged along in interminable sequence. With her face toward the window, she passed several hours composing a piece which had been in embryo in her heart for a long time. The solitude, the grandeur of the scenery, the wonderful lake with its curves and turns, sometimes made her forget the tragic future that lay before her.
She was just finishing with lingering, tender notes when Jordan Morse came quickly through the corridor.
Bobbie stiffened in his arms suddenly.
"I hear Jinnie's fiddle," he gasped. "I'm goin' to my Jinnie."
When the key turned in the lock, the girl came to the door. At first she didn't notice the blind child, but her name, unsteadily called, brought her eyes to the little figure. Happy Pete recognized her with a wild yelp, wriggled himself past the other two, and whiningly crouched at her feet. Jinnie had them both in her arms before Morse turned the key again in the lock.