“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 and downward, they encountered Kurt.
“This is Miss Sills, Mr. Walters,” introduced Jo proudly—“the little girl I told you about when I came from Chicago. We are engaged.”
She looked up a little fearfully at the stern-looking young foreman. She was surprised and relieved at the kindly look in the steel-gray eyes. He took one of her little hands in his strong brown ones. He was ashamed that his instinct told him it was the typical hand of a thief, slim, smooth and deft-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—you know you said—”
He stopped in confusion.
“Forget everything I said, old man. I was a grouch then and I didn’t know—anything. I know better now. But Marta, why did you tell me your name was Bobbie Burr.”
“Mrs. Kingdon told me to use that name until—”