CHAPTER X
"Jo!" called Pen, running down the road as she spied him driving away in alightweight mountain wagon.
Quickly he reined in the pair of prancing horses.
"What 'tis, Miss Penny Ante? Isn't it great that I am back to stay?"
"Indeed it is. Where are you going and may I go, too?"
"Over to Westcott's, and I'd love to have you go with me."
"I'll have to get a furlough and a hat. Just wait a moment."
She found Kurt and asked his permission with all the pretty pleading of achild in her voice. Her face was singularly young; her eyes like amirror.
"I've never ridden in a wagon," she said breathlessly, seeing that hisexpression wasn't as forbidding as usual. "And I'll come back. Can't yousee I _want_ to come back?"
Something sweet dawned in his eyes.
"Yes;" he said, a note of exultation sounding in his voice with theknowledge that his last stand of resistance to long-held theories wasgiving away before some new force, powerful and overwhelming. "You may go.I wish I were driving instead of Jo, but--"
He stood watching her as she sped back to where Jo was waiting, and hisgaze still followed as the horses tore over the road to Westcott's. Therewas a far-away look in his eye and a faint smile about the curves of hismouth. Subconsciously, as though he were the one beside her, he followedin fancy after the wagon was lost to sight around the hills. He could seethe point where the road would disappear into a plain, covered with softgrass over which the sleek horses would bound. He knew Jo's irresistiblebubbling gaiety, and the sparkle she would add to it. He wondered why hehad never thought to take her for a drive. There had been no chance totalk to her in their rides. She always put spurs to her horse when hetried to talk to her.
All sense of time left him. The symphony of the hill winds from the southwas in his ears; the beauty of the day in all his being. Vividly herecalled their ride in the early dawn and the brief moment she had lainunconscious in his arms. Ever since that moment he had barricaded himselfagainst her appeal and charm. He felt himself yielding and knew that theyielding was bringing him happiness.
"I am in a Fool's Paradise," he thought, "but still a Paradise. Shedoesn't care for me any more than she cares for Jo. I wonder does he knowit, or is she deceiving him? I fear so, for he seems absurdly happy."
He was still lost in the dreams of the lotus-eater when he heard somethingthat resembled the rattling of his own noisy car. Looking down the hillroad from town, he saw a vehicle approaching which he recognized as the"town taxi." It turned into the ranch grounds and he quickly went to thefront of the house, supposing that Kingdon or his wife must havereturned.
A strange young girl was alighting. As he went wonderingly to meet her, hesaw that she was city-bred. She seemed to be dazed by the illimitablespaces and was blinking from the sunshine. His observant eye noted thesmart suitcase and the wardrobe trunk the man was depositing on the porch.There was city shrewdness in having had the amount of the fare fixedbefore leaving town.
She was a little slip of a girl with a small-featured face and a certainpale prettiness. There was an appealing tinge of melancholy in her eyesnotwithstanding they were eager and alert. Her dress was plain, but nattyand citified.
"Is this Top Hill--where Mrs. Kingdon lives?" she asked in a low,softly-pitched voice.
"Yes;" he replied, "but Mrs. Kingdon is away--"
"I know--but she wrote me to come here; that she would be home verysoon."
"I am glad to hear that. Come in," he urged hospitably, as he picked upher suitcase. "The housekeeper will make you comfortable."
She hesitated.
"Is Miss Lamont in?"
"Miss Lamont--Miss Pen Lamont?" he asked in surprise. "She is a friend ofyours?"
"Yes," she replied composedly.
"She has gone for a drive, but she will be back soon."
She followed him within and stood gazing at the pleasant interior,--books,pictures, piano and fireplace, while he went to summon the housekeeper.
"Mrs. Merlin, this is a friend of Mrs. Kingdon's," he said on his return."Will you show her to one of the guest rooms?"
"Oh!" exclaimed the girl in expostulary tone, "I am _not_ a guest. My nameis--Bobbie Burr. Mrs. Kingdon hired me to do plain sewing for the childrenand to care for the linen."
There was no trace of a seamstress in the plain but elegant garb andappointments of the young girl, and Mrs. Merlin was at a loss as to theproper establishment of the newcomer.
"Maybe," she said to Kurt hesitatingly, "the room the last nurserygoverness had--"
"Any room will do," said the girl hurriedly, as she followed Mrs. Merlin.
Kurt went down the road which Jo and Pen had taken. He felt the need of apipe and solitude to help him figure out this puzzling problem, and soonhe was sending a jet of smoke up to the branches of the tree which he hadselected for a resting place.
Who was this girl whose belongings betokened money, and yet who said shehad come to do plain sewing? Enlightenment came with the recollection thatshe had been sent by Mrs. Kingdon and was doubtless one of her protegees.The name she had given sounded demimondish, and she was a friend of Pen's!The thought made him wince. She had seemed to him some way isolated fromher kind, with naught in common with them save her profession. To find hewas mistaken brought him an unpleasant shock.
A sound of wheels around the curve; the clatter of hoofs. In a moment theycame into his vision--the prancing team, the merry driver and--_thethief_. Delicate as a drop of dew, as lovely as a forest blossom, hervoice, bird-like and rippling, wafted to him from the clear aromatic air,she inverted again all his theories and resolutions.
He walked toward them, his hand raised.
Jo reined in.
"Will you get out and walk up to the house with me?" Kurt asked her, thequestion given in the form and tone of command.
"A friend of yours is at the house," he said abruptly, when Jo had drivenon and was outside of hearing.
"A friend of mine!" she repeated, losing a little of the wild rose tint inher fear that Hebler might have arrived.
"So she says. Mrs. Kingdon sent her here to sew for the children."
"How you relieve me! I was fearing it might be a man."
"Her name," he said, "is Bobbie Burr."
"What!" Her voice had a startled note. "Bobbie Burr! Oh, yes; I rememberher."
"Is she a particular friend of yours?"
"I am more attracted by her than by any girl I ever knew. Let's sit downin the shade of one of the few-and-far-between trees you have up here. Youwere interested in my welfare when you took me from Bender, but you willbe doubly interested in Bobbie when you hear her story. She is a convertfar more worthy of your efforts and those of Mrs. Kingdon than I haveproved to be.
"She is the type you thought I was before you snatched me from theburning--I mean from Bender. Let me see if I can quote you correctly: 'Oneof the many young city girls who go wrong because they have no chance;bred in slums, ill-treated, ill-fed.' Poor Bobbie had no chanceuntil--you'll be skeptical when I tell you how she first received hermoral uplift--she had some nice clothes. Stealing was her only vice! Atthat, she only took enough to meet her needs; but one day she _found_ somemoney; quite a lot, it seemed to her. Down in her little fluttering fancyshe had always had longings for a white dress--a _nice_ white dress. Shehad the inherent instinct for judging rightly 'what she should wear.' So,for the first time in her life she was able to be correctly and elegantlyclad. The white dress she bought was simple, one of the plain buteffective and expensive kind. With the wearing of this new gown therenaturally came the feminine desire to be seen and admired. She didn't knowwhere to go. She had never been a frequenter of dance halls. She knew, ofcourse, there were few open sesames for her. She went to one where noquestions are asked before admittance. Things didn't look good to her atthis Hurricane Hall, and she thought her doll was filled with sawdustuntil the inevitable man appeared and changed her angle of vision. He wasthat most un
usual apparition, a nice, honest man. He saw her; she saw him;after that there were no others visible in their little world.
"Within twenty-four hours he had told her of his love and asked her tomarry him. Then--I tried to convince you thieves could be honest--she wasbrave enough to tell him what she was. He was a true knight and lover. Herconfession didn't alter his feelings or his intentions; in fact, hisdetermination to marry her was strengthened. Because she loved him verymuch, she ran away from him, leaving him in a strange city without evenher name for a clue. But now she had a hope, a real incentive--the biggestone there is. She pawned all the coveted clothes she had bought and wentto a place far away where she could begin a new life--the life of anhonest working-girl.
"In her little game with destiny, she lost out, and was apprehended for atheft of which she was entirely innocent, but her past record barredacquittal. A man was instrumental in gaining a reprieve for her, however,and she was sent away to new environment where she found friends, healthand, best of all, a job.
"So the desire was born in her to turn the proverbial new leaf, not forthe sake of winning her 'man,' but from the simple wish to be 'good.' Iinterested Mrs. Kingdon in her and told her where she was, but did notdream of such good luck for--Bobbie as to be sent up here. I know she willfind happiness up here in these hills. You'll be kind to the little girl,won't you?" she pleaded. "You know you haven't much mercy for sinners, butyou will see she is serious about reforming; not flippant like me. Shewill never yield to temptation again."
"How do you know?" he asked, looking at her keenly.
"Because," she answered softly. "She _loves_, and--the man she loves isworthy of her."
"And you think love is powerful enough to cure?"
"I think so."
"Would it cure--you?"
"I don't know," she said ingenuously. "You see I have never loved."
A fervid light smouldered in his eyes.
"Aunty Pen!"
Francis came running around the curve.
"There is a nice girl at the house. Mother sent her. She's got a boy'sname--Bobbie. I like her. She does anything I tell her to."
"That's the masculine measure," she said, taking his hand and running onwith him.
"Come back!" was the strident summons from Kurt.
"Stay here a moment," Pen hurriedly bade Francis.
"I want to ask you how this girl is able to have such expensive lookingthings--if she has only a job?"
"They were given to her."
"By the man who was instrumental in getting her reprieved? You said shewas virtuous."
"Don't do the man an injustice, even if you doubt poor little Bobbie. Heacted from charitable motives. He has never seen her, or tried to seeher."
"Look at me, Pen!"
"I'm looking. You have the true Western eye--the eye of a sharpshooter anda--sheriff."
"The story you just told me is the story of Marta Sills. Is that _her_name or yours?"
"It belongs to us both. Being 'particular pals,' we shared alike.Interchange of names often comes handy with us."
"Was it you or Bobbie Burr--the girl who just came--whom Jo met in a dancehall, and took to St.--some place on Lake Michigan?"
"Dear me! You cattlemen are such gay birds when you come to a city! Howcan I tell how many girls Jo Gary took to a dance hall? If that St.Something was St. Joe, he must have gone there to get married. It's whatmost people go there for, and probably he's no more saintly than the placeis. Maybe it was named after him."
"Tell me! Was it Bobbie Burr?"
"She never mentioned Jo Gary's name to me, so how do I know. Yes, Francis;coming."
She ran fleetly on to join the boy who was impatiently calling to her.
"Marta! How the plot does thicken!" she thought as she ran a race withFrancis to the house. "Now we're all here but Hebby. What next? Curtainsoon, I expect. No need longer for understudies. I must start thingsbefore Kurt succumbs to her charms. That little subdued, clinging-vine airshe has is most appealing to his type. He'll come to forgive _her_anything."
"Marta," she said quickly, as she met the young girl, "come upstairs withme."
She locked the door as soon as they were in her room.
"Now tell me all about yourself and everything that has happened since Ilast saw you."
Beaming with the excitement that comes from narrative of self, thenewcomer talked animatedly for some time.
"And," she concluded, "Mrs. Kingdon said you told her all about me, andshe sent me a ticket to come here. And it's lovely up here, isn't it? Shetold me I'd better keep to the name of Bobbie Burr for the present, untilshe came anyway."
"I should say!" agreed Pen. "Marta Sills might land you in most unpleasantplaces. But, Marta, that man you told me about, whose name you didn'tmention?"
"Yes, Miss Lamont. I try not to think of him."
"Marta, why did you tell him that you stole. You could have married him.He'd never have known. And you and he could both have been happy."
In the girl's wondering eyes, Pen read a mute rebuke.
"I'd rather lose him forever than deceive him!"
"Marta," said Pen impressively, "Diogenes should have known you."
"Who is he, Miss Lamont?"
"Never mind, Marta. I thought I knew what love meant, but I see I didn'tuntil now. If I loved a man as you do yours, I would stop stealing if Ihad to cut my hands off to do it."
"I have stopped. I know now that I could have stopped long ago, if any onehad given me the right boost, or made me want to stop."
Just then Pen's eyes caught sight of a trunk in the corner of her room.
"What's that here for?" she asked.
"Oh, please, Miss Lamont, I brought it to you. I never touched anything init. I earned enough to buy what I am wearing and a few things in mysuitcase, besides what I had on that day--"
"Marta, that's sweet in you. I am beginning to feel I'd like to tog oncemore. I shall reward you. But first, will you do something for me?"
"You know I will be glad to do anything."
"I want a note delivered. I'll write it now."
Hastily she wrote a few lines at her desk.
"Come with me, Marta. We'll have to go to a certain vine-clad pergola bydevious routes to avoid three wise children and one suspicious andformidable foreman."
By much circumambulation the two girls reached the pergola unseen.
"You sit here for a few moments, Marta, and the person to whom you are togive the note will come to you."
Pen walked on to the barracks where she met Jo.
"Will you do something for me, Jo? Right away, quick?"
"Sure thing, Miss Penny Ante. What did his nibs want?"
"Never mind, now. Go to the pergola and receive a note from me. Now don'tbe stupid. Do as you are told,--like a good soldier does."
With a laugh Jo started in swinging gait for the place indicated, but hewas halted several times by some of the men who wanted directions fortheir work.
After waiting patiently, Marta concluded Pen's plans had miscarried, soshe started for the house, but becoming confused as to turns, she wenttoward the barracks.
To a little girl whose life had been spent in slums and reformatories, thebig spaces and silences were more appalling than the wildest hours oftraffic on misguided State Street. She had a strange inclination to walkdown hill backward that she might not see what other ascension must bemade.
"If I'd only been born as high up as this, maybe I'd never have got downso low," she philosophized.
She came around a bend in the road. A man was approaching. He looked up.
"Marta, oh, Marta!"
"Jo!" she cried wildly, looking about for retreat.
Another second, in his arms, she thought no longer of flight.
"Marta, how did you ever get here?" Wild astonishment was visible in Jo'seyes.
"Mrs. Kingdon sent for me. I've been killed with kindness ever since thatnight I saw you, Jo. I didn't know you were here. Miss Lamont t
old me tostay in that place where the vines are until a man came, and to give himthis note; but that was long ago. I came out and lost my way. Are you theman she meant?"
"I must be."
"Does she know that you--that we--"
"Sure she knows. Give me the note."
He removed the little folded paper from the envelope and read it aloud:
"DEAR JO: Here is your heart-ease. Don't let doubt kill your love. Just take Marta. A woman loves an audacious lover.
"Yours, "PENNY ANTE."
"I feel sort of crazy. Gee, Marta, but it's great to be crazy! Let's sitdown here and talk about it. You don't need to tell me much. She told me.Why didn't you let me hear from you?"
"I wanted to be sure, Jo. I'm not going to make excuses for myself, but Ihad it handed to me hard. Whenever I thought I'd like to be like otherfolks, some one would give me a shoveback, and then I felt cornered andthat it was no use. Sometimes--most always--I was down and out. Then I'dhit a little lucky wave and go up. It was one of those times I saw you inthat dance hall."
"That was _my_ lucky wave. I can see you now as you sat away from therest--so little and so different-looking from those tough ones."
"And I can see you--alone, by yourself; you looked different from anyoneI'd ever seen, so healthy and jolly and kind. I saw you looking at me andknew right off what you thought--that I was straight and had got in thewrong place by mistake. And I let you think so and let you get to know me.And we danced and talked till near sunrise. That lovely day over at St.Joe! I thought I was in Heaven until we were in that little park and youasked me to marry you. First time a real man ever asked me that. I wasn'tlow enough to fool you then. When you said it made no difference, I knewyou were too good for me, and it made me love you so much that I had torun away."
"It was sure great in you to tell me, Marta."
"You know how I got help and hope; but I'm not Marta now, Jo. Not anymore. I'm Bobbie Burr."
"You'll always be Marta. But it makes no difference; you'll soon bechanging your name for keeps. You can't ever lose me, now, and love hasMrs. Kingdon and all the rest of them beat for what you call reforming."
"If I had only known long ago that there were folks like you and Mrs.Kingdon and--"
"Never mind long ago. There's nothing to it. Let's talk about the littleshack we are going to put up in these hills somewhere. Like it?"
"It seems like a beautiful dream up here, Jo. Too good for me."
He looked down into the kitten face with its eyes of Irish blue.
"Nothing in the world is too good for you, my Marta."
"Miss Lamont said I could play I had died and been born again. She said itwas a good way to turn over a new leaf."
"You will be born again as Mrs. Jo Gary."
Time went very swiftly then, and it was Marta who realized Pen might beexpecting to see her.
"Please start me in the right direction, Jo."
"I'll take you to the house myself," said Jo protectingly.
As they came around a curve in the road that wound its way upward anddownward, they encountered Kurt.
"This is Miss Sills, Mr. Walters," introduced Jo proudly--"the little girlI told you about when I came from Chicago. We are engaged."
She looked up a little fearfully at the stern-looking young foreman. Shewas surprised and relieved at the kindly look in the steel-gray eyes. Hetook one of her little hands in his strong brown ones. He was ashamed thathis instinct told him it was the typical hand of a thief, slim, smooth anddeft-fingered.
"Let me congratulate you, Jo, and you, too, Marta. Jo is my friend."
Tears came into her eyes and her little mouth puckered pathetically.
"Say, Kurt, you're a brick!" exclaimed Jo heartily. "I was afraid--youknow you said--"
He stopped in confusion.
"Forget everything I said, old man. I was a grouch then and I didn'tknow--anything. I know better now. But Marta, why did you tell me yourname was Bobbie Burr."
"Mrs. Kingdon told me to use that name until--"
"Until she has her right name, Marta Gary," finished Jo.
Kurt smiled condoningly.
"Mrs. Kingdon always knows what is best."
"That is what Miss Lamont said. She said that with Jo to love me and Mrs.Kingdon to advise me I couldn't help but be--what I want to be."
"Did she say that?" he asked eagerly, a light in his eyes. "She wasright."
"She left out _her_ help. It was Jo that first made me want to bestraight, but it was Miss Lamont who gave me the chance. Isn't she grand,Mr. Walters? She has such a kind heart."
"Will you tell me something about her, Marta? Is--"
He stopped abruptly. It wouldn't be just the right thing to cross-examinethis little girl about her "particular pal."
"I'll see you again, soon," he said, and went on to the garage.
The sound of Jo's jolly laugh with the little added tender note made himturn and look after them. They had stopped on their way and were lookinginto each other's eyes, oblivious to all else but the happiness to befound in the kingdom of love and youth.
Silhouetted on the crest of the hill they stood--Jo, lean, long andpicturesque in his rough clothes; Marta, neat and natty from her littlepumps to her shining yellow hair smoothed back over her forehead.
With the feeling that he also was initiated into the Great Brotherhood andhad recognized the tokens of membership, he went about his tasks, seeing avision of a girl with a sweetness in her eyes that often belied thebantering of her tone.
When he came up to dinner, Pen's place was vacant.
"Bobbie won't eat with us," explained Francis. "Nora didn't, you know.Aunt Pen thought she might be lonesome eating her first meal all alone, sothey are having their dinner together."
Marta's words, "she has such a kind heart," came back to him.
"She is right," he said. "Marta knows."
And suddenly there was born in him a deep compassion for all women of herkind. In vain he waited for Pen in the library that night. But, feelingshe was in deep waters, Pen had resolved to stay in her room.
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