“Quite an old man! I’ll see you very soon again, and maybe I can give you—your answer. Kurt goes to town early in the morning. Meet me in the pergola near the garage. Good night!”
By way of the kitchen and back stairs she reached her room undetected.
“Dear old Jo! Poor Kurt!” she thought sleepily, as she stretched herself luxuriously to rest. “It’s a very small, very funny old world, and the thief is certainly getting in deep waters.”
On the trail to Westcott’s, Jo was chuckling to himself.
“The little thief! If she isn’t the slickest little lass I ever saw!”
In the library, oblivious to time and place, Kurt still lingered, his dream-like memories trying to learn the tune that Pan was piping on his reeds.
CHAPTER VIII
At the breakfast-table Pen found at her plate a little bunch of flowers, clumsily arranged and tied.