Blake's friends closed in on him, and Angus made his escape. He was glad to get clear so easily, for he had no mind to be mixed up in a fight on the street. He hooked up the colts and drove down to the landing, hearing as he did so the deep bellow of the river steamer's whistle. When he got the colts tied and went out on the wharf the boat had already docked. Behind a group of passengers a girl was bending over a couple of grips. Her back was toward Angus, and never doubting that it was Jean, he reached down with one hand for a grip, while he slipped his other arm around her waist.
"Hello, old girl!" he said. But to his utter amazement, as she snapped erect in the crook of his arm, it was not Jean at all. This girl was taller, black of hair and blue of eye. For a moment he did not recognize her, and then he knew her for Kathleen French, whom he had not seen for more than a year. "Oh," he said blankly, "it's you!"
"I think so," she said dryly. "I can stand without being held, thanks."
Angus dropped his arm from her waist, blushing.
"I thought you were Jean. I'm awfully sorry."
Kathleen French's dark blue eyes looked him up and down, and to his relief she seemed more amused than angry.
"But your sister wasn't on the boat. It's nice to be welcomed by somebody." She frowned, glancing down the wharf. "Have you seen any of my brothers? Somebody should be here to meet me."
"Blake is in town. I haven't seen any of the other boys."
"Then why isn't Blake here?" she demanded.
"I don't know," Angus returned. "It's not my fault, is it?"