Preachin’ Bill “’lowed there was a heap o’ difference between a playin’ a violin an’ jest fiddlin’. You wouldn’t know some fellers was a makin’ music, if you didn’t see ’em a pattin’ their foot; but hit ain’t that a way with Jim Lane. He sure do make music, real music.” As no one ever questioned Bill’s judgment, it is safe to conclude that Mr. Lane inherited something of his great-grandfather’s ability; along with his treasured instrument. When supper was over, and Wash Gibbs had gone on his way; Jim took the violin from its peg above the fireplace, and, tucking it lovingly under his chin, gave himself up to his favorite pastime, while Sammy moved busily about the cabin, putting things right for the night. When her evening tasks were finished, the girl came and stood before her father. At once the music ceased and the violin was laid carefully aside. Sammy seated herself on her father’s knee. “Law’, child, but you’re sure growin’ up,” said Jim, with a mock groan at her weight. “Yes, Daddy, I reckon I’m about growed; I’ll be nineteen come Christmas.” “O shucks!” ejaculated the man. “It wasn’t more’n last week that you was washin’ doll clothes, down by the spring.” The young woman laughed. “I didn’t wash no doll clothes last week,” she said. Then her voice changed, and that wide, questioning look, the look that made one think so of her father, came into her eyes. “There’s something I want to ask you, Daddy Jim. You—you know—Ollie’s goin’ away, an’—an’—an’ I was thinkin’ about it all day yesterday, an’, Daddy, why ain’t we got no folks?” Mr. Lane stirred uneasily. Sammy continued, “There’s the Matthews’s, they’ve got kin back in Illinois; Mandy Ford’s got uncles and aunts over on Lang Creek; Jed Holland’s got a grandad and mam, and even Preachin’ Bill talks about a pack o’ kin folks over in Arkansaw. Why ain’t we got no folks, Daddy?” The man gazed long and thoughtfully at the fresh young face of his child; and the black eyes looked into the brown eyes keenly, as he answered her question with another question, “Do you reckon you love him right smart, honey? Are you sure, dead sure you ain’t thinkin’ of what he’s got ’stead of what he is? I know it’ll be mighty nice for you to be one of the fine folks and they’re big reasons why you ought, but it’s goin’ to take a mighty good man to match you—a mighty good man. And it’s the man you’ve got to live with, not his money.” “Ollie’s good, Daddy,” she returned in a low voice, her eyes fixed upon the floor. “I know, I know,” replied Jim. “He wouldn’t do nobody no harm; he’s good enough that way, and I ain’t a faultin’ him. But you ought to have a _man,_ a sure enough good man.” “But tell me, Daddy, why ain’t we got no folks?” The faintest glimmer of a smile came into the dark face; “You’re sure growed up, girl; you’re sure growed up, girl; you sure are. An’ I reckon you might as well know.” Then he told her. CHAPTER IX. SAMMY LANE’S FOLKS.