'll come along with me, I'll take you to her. Bring the dog if
you like."

"I want to see her to-day," stated Bobbie.

Jordan Morse took Bobbie's hand in his.

"Come on then, and don't make a noise," cautioned the man. "Put down
the dog; he'll follow you."

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.

"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.

"I brought him," went on Morse, "because I don't just like your
manner. I brought him as a lever to move you with, miss."

Then he left hurriedly, something unknown within him stirring with
life. He decided afterward it was the sight of the blind child's
golden head pressed against Jinnie's breast that had so upset him.

As he drove away, he crushed a desire to return again, to take them
both, boy