of the night wind, made an impression upon him he would never
forget. Sometimes as her fingers sped on, her eyes were penetrating;
sometimes they darkened almost to melancholy. When the last wailing
note had finally died away, Jinnie dropped the instrument to her
side.

"It's lonely on nights like this when the ghosts howl about," she
observed. "They love the fiddle, ghosts do."

Theodore King came back to himself at the girl's words. He drew a long
breath.

"Child," he ejaculated, "whoever taught you to play like that?"

"Why, I taught myself," answered Jinnie.

"Please play again," entreated Mr. King, and once more he sat
enthralled with the wonder of the girl's melodies. The last few
soulful notes Mr. King likened to a sudden prayer, sent out with a
sobbing breath.

"It's wonderful," he murmured slowly. "What is the piece you've just
played?"

"It hasn't any name yet," replied the girl. "You see I only know
pieces that're in my head."

Then all the misery of the past few hours swept over her, and Jinnie
began to cry. A burden of doubt had clouded the usually clear young
mind. What if the man to whom she was going would not let her and the
cats live with him? He might turn them away.

Mr. King spoke softly to her.

"Don't cry," said he. "You won't be lonely when you get to your
uncle's."

But she met his smiling glance with a feeling of constraint. He did
not know the cause of her tears; she could not tell him. If she only
knew,--if she only had one little inkling of the reception she would
receive at the painter's home. However, she did cheer up a little when
Mr. King, in evident desire to be of some service, began to tell her
of the city to which she was going.

In a short time he saw the dark head nodding, and he drew Jinnie down
against his arm, whispering:

"Sleep a while, child; I'll wake you up at Bellaire."

CHAPTER V

LIKE UNTO LIKE ATTRACTED

Jinnie Singleton watched Theodore King leave the train at the little
private station situated on his own estate. As she drew nearer the
city depot, her heart beat with uncertainty, for that day would decide
her fate, her future; she would know by night whether or not she
possessed a friend in the world.

For some hours she sat in the station on one of the hard benches,
waiting for daylight, at which time she and Milly Ann would steal
forth into the city to find Lafe Grandoken, her mother's friend.

A reluctant, stormy dawn was pushing