The birds above their heads kept up a shrill chatter. On ordinary occasions Jinnie would have listened to mark down in her memory a few notes to draw from her fiddle, but at this moment she was too busy looking for a proper explanation. Glancing sidelong at the woman's face and noting the expression upon it, she grew cold and drew into the corner. She would not dare---- "I almost think it's my duty to write your uncle," said Molly deliberately. Jinnie gasped. She straightened and put forth an impetuous hand. "Please don't! I beg you not to. Some day, mebbe, some day----" "In the meantime you're living with people who can't take care of you." "Oh, but they do, and Mr. King's helping me," faltered Jinnie. "Why, he'd do anything for me he could. He loves my fiddle----" "Does he love you?" asked Molly, her heart beating swiftly. "I don't know, but he's very good to me." Molly with one hand carefully brushed a dead leaf from her skirt. "Do you love him?" she asked, forcing casuality into her tone. Did she love Theodore King? The question was flung at Jinnie so suddenly that the truth burst from her lips. "Oh, yes, I love him very, very much----" The machine started forward with a tremendous jerk. Jinnie gave a frightened little cry, but the woman did not heed her. The motor sped along at a terrific rate, and there just ahead Jinnie spied a lean barn-cat, crossing the road. She screamed again in terror. Still Molly sped on, driving the car straight over the thin, gaunt animal. Jinnie's heart leapt into her mouth. All her great love for living things rose in stout appeal against this ruthless deed. She lifted her slight body and sprang up and out, striking the hard ground with a sickening thud. She sat up, shaking from head to foot. A short distance ahead Molly Merriweather was turning her machine. Jinnie crawled to the middle of the road, still dizzy from her fall. There, struggling before her, was the object for which she had jumped. The cat was writhing in distracted misery, and Jinnie picked him up in her arms. She was sitting on the ground when Molly, very pale, rolled back. "You little fool! You silly little fool!" she exclaimed, leaping out. "You might have been killed doing such a thing." "You ran over the kitty," wept Jinnie, bowing her head. "And what if I did? It's only a cat. Throw it down and come with me immediately." Jinnie wasn't used to such sentiments. She got to her feet, a queer, rebellious feeling buzzing through her brain. "I'm going to walk home," she said brokenly, "and take the kitty with me." Saying this, she took off her jacket and wrapped it about the cat. Molly glared at her furiously. "You're the strangest little dunce I ever saw," she cried. "If you're determined to take the little beast, get in."