The Little Fiddler

Jinnie's heart was skipping about like a silly little kitten as she sat watching Peg's stiff fingers making large stitches in the lace.

"Oh, Peg, isn't it lovely? Perfectly beautiful! Nobody ever had a dress like that!... My, Peggy! How your fingers fly!"

Peg's face was noncommittal to the point of blankness.

"Tain't no credit to me what my hands do, Miss Jinnie," she said querulously. "I didn't make 'em."

The girl's happiness was absolutely complete. The dress would be finished and Sunday evening----oh, Sunday evening! Then she walked restlessly to the window and studied the sky.

"I hope it doesn't rain to-morrow!... Oh, Peggy, don't you hope so too?" Mrs. Grandoken glowered at her.

"Kid," she said, "come away from that window. You been doin' nothin' but wishin' 'twon't rain all day. You'll wear out the patience of the Almighty; then he'll make it rain an' soak you through a-purpose."

"I don't know which I like best, Lafe," the girl remarked presently, turning to the cobbler, "the red roses or the yellow."

Bobbie came to Jinnie's side and fingered the lace.

"Tell me how the dress looks, dear," he whispered, tugging at her sleeve.

"Sure," agreed Jinnie. "Feel right here! Well, that's a beautiful red rose and here's a yellow one." She took his small finger and traced it over a yard of lace. "Feel that?"

"Yes," murmured Bobbie.

"Well, that's a green vine running up and down, and all around among the roses."