“’Tis so!” affirmed Lafe. “Jinnie, lass, them angels come in shapes of human bein’s—mostly so. Now go tell Peggy. It’ll take a load off’n her heart.”
As Jinnie told her story to Mrs. Grandoken and handed her the money, the woman’s lips twitched at the corners, but she only said, warningly:
“Don’t get a swelled head over your doin’s, lass, for a brat ain’t responsible for her own smartness.”
One morning, about a week afterward, Jinnie rapped at the back door of the King mansion.
“Is Mr. King in?” she asked timidly of the servant. 127
The girl stared hard at the flushed, pretty face.
“He’s in, but you can leave the wood if you want to.”
“No,” refused Jinnie. “I want to see him.”
The maid turned away, grumbling, and Jinnie backed from the door with bated breath.
Mr. King appeared immediately, seemingly embarrassed. He took both her hands.