Then he went back for Jinnie, and she followed him into the large room. The gorgeous red and yellow roses in the limply hanging blouse lent a color to her sunburned skin.
"You may play anything you like," Theodore whispered.
"All right," nodded Jinnie.
She unwrapped the fiddle and tuned it with nimble fingers. Not until she placed the instrument under her chin did she raise her head. Her eyes went searchingly from face to face of the attentive assembly. It so happened that they fell upon a crown of golden hair above a pair of dark eyes she vividly remembered. The glance took her back to that night more than two years before--to the night when her father died.
Molly Merriweather was seated in queenly fashion in one of the large chairs, a questioning look stealing over her countenance. Jinnie smiled at her and began to play. It might have been the beautiful woman opposite that brought forth the wild hill story, told in marvelous harmonies. The rapt young face gave no sign of embarrassment, for Jinnie was completely lost in her melodious task. Above the dimpled chin that hugged the brown fiddle, Theodore King could see the brooding genius of the girl, and longed to bring a passionate lovelight for himself into the glorious eyes. The intensity of the music established in him an unconquerable hope--a hope that could not die as long as life was in him, as long as life was in the little fiddler.
As Jinnie finished with dramatic brilliancy, great applause and showers of congratulations fell upon her ears. Theodore went to her quickly.
"Wonderful! Splendid, child!" he declared joyously. "You're a genius!"
His words increased her joy--his compelling dark eyes added to her desire to do her best.
She meditated one moment. Then thoroughly unconscious of herself, turned and spoke to the audience.
"I'll play about fairies ... the ones who live in the woods and hide away in the flowers and under the leaves."
Once more she began to play. She believed in fairies with all her heart and had no doubt but that every one else did. Under the spell of her music and her loveliness, imaginary elves stole from the solitude of the summer night, to join their tiny hands and dance to the rhythm of her song.
As she lowered her violin and looked around, she saw astonishment on the faces of the strangers about her. A deathlike hush prevailed and Jinnie could hear the feverish blood as it struck at her temples. Into her eyes came an unfathomable expression, and Theodore King, attracted by their latent passion, went rapidly to her.