“I wouldn’t have to peddle to any one else, then, would I?” she stammered.
“No! That’s just what I meant.”
Then the tears welled over the drooping lids and a feeling of gratitude surged through the girl’s whole being. Fifty cents a day! It was such a lot of money—as much as Lafe made five days out of six.
Jinnie sent the man a fleeting glance, meeting his smiling eyes with pulsing blood.
“I’d love to do it,” she whispered gratefully. “Then I’d have a lot of time to—to—fiddle.”
Mr. King’s hand slipped into his pocket.
“I’ll pay you fifty cents for to-day’s wood,” he decided, “and fifty for what you’re going to bring to-morrow. Is that satisfactory?”
As if in a dream, Jinnie tumbled out the contents of the shortwood strap. As she took the money from Mr. King’s hand, his fingers touched hers; she thrilled to the tips of her curls. Then she ran hastily down the long road, only turning to glance back when she reached the gate. Mr. King stood just where she had left him, and was looking after her. He raised his cap, and Jinnie, with burning face, fled on again.
She wondered what Lafe would say about her unexpected good fortune. She would tell him first, before she saw Peggy. She imagined how the sweet smile would cross his lips, and how he would put his arm gently around her.
Lafe heard her open the side door and called,