“I ain’t goin’ to pay you this mornin’! The boss’ll do it. Mr. King wants to see you.”
Jinnie nodded, her heart pounding.
It was delightful to contemplate seeing him once more. She wondered where he had been all these days and if he had thought of her. Jinnie’s pulses were galloping along like a race horse. She stood quietly until the master was called, and he came quickly without making her wait.
“I’m going to ask you to do me a favor,” he said, coming forward, holding out his hand. 130
Now when Jinnie first heard that he wished to see her, she thought her heart could beat no faster, but his words made that small organ tattoo against her sides like the flutter of a bird’s wing in fright. She could do something for him! Oh, what joy! What unutterable joy!
“We’re going to have some friends here Sunday evening––”
The sudden upfling of Jinnie’s head cut off his words.
What difference would his having friends make to her? Oh, yes, they wanted more wood. How gladly she would get it for him; search all day for the driest pieces if he needed them!
“I was wondering,” proceeded Mr. King, “if you would come here with your violin and play for—for—us?”
Jinnie’s knees relaxed and she staggered back against the wall.