Once in Paradise Road, he stooped and lifted the slight boyish figure and walked quickly away. Beyond the turn in the road stood his car. He placed Bobbie and the dog on the seat beside him, and in another moment they were speeding toward the hill.
At that moment Jinnie was brooding over her violin. Her fiddle was her only comfort in the lonely hours. The plaintive tones she drew from it were the only sounds she heard, save the rushing water in the gorge and the thrashing of the trees when the wind blew. The minutes hung long on her hands, and the hours seemed to mock her as they dragged along in interminable sequence. With her face toward the window, she passed several hours composing a piece which had been in embryo in her heart for a long time. The solitude, the grandeur of the scenery, the wonderful lake with its curves and turns, sometimes made her forget the tragic future that lay before her.
She was just finishing with lingering, tender notes when Jordan Morse came quickly through the corridor.
Bobbie stiffened in his arms suddenly.
“I hear Jinnie’s fiddle,” he gasped. “I’m goin’ to my Jinnie.”
When the key turned in the lock, the girl came to the door. At first she didn’t notice the blind child, but her name, unsteadily called, brought her eyes to the little figure. Happy Pete recognized her with a wild yelp, wriggled himself past the other two, and whiningly crouched at her feet. Jinnie had them both in her arms before Morse turned the key again in the lock.
“Bobbie and Happy Pete!” she cried. Then she got up and flashed tearful eyes upon Morse. 296
“What did you bring them for? Did you tell Peg?”
“No, I didn’t tell Peg and—and I brought him––” he paused and beckoned her with an upward toss of his chin.
Jinnie followed him agitatedly.