"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.