Molly’s eyes gleamed again.
“How can you afford to take lessons?”
The questioner read the truth in the burning blush that swept the girl’s dark hair line, and her little white teeth came together.
“Mr. Grandoken is not your uncle,” she snapped.
“He’s more’n my uncle; he’s a father to me, and when he comes home––”
“He’s not coming home. Murderers don’t get off so easily.” 280
Jinnie got up and again picked her fiddle from the floor.
“He isn’t a murderer!” she stammered, with filling eyes. “Lafe wouldn’t kill anything.... I’ve been with him almost three years and I know. Why, he wouldn’t let Peg or me swat flies.”
Miss Merriweather saw her mistake. She realized then as never before that nothing could take from the girl her belief in the cobbler.
“Sit down,” she urged. “Don’t go yet.”