Law was watching and listening. Jo affected him strangely. Lately he was aware of a glow whenever he got to thinking of her. If he meant ever to escape from Point of Pines he had better make a hasty retreat. That was what the glow meant. As if to challenge this state of mind Jo now came toward him.
"It's a noble pile you've cut, Mr. Law," she said. "For a painter-man you're not the useless truck one might expect. Mr. Law, I'll think of you often when I burn this wood. And now that I'm rather soft in my feelings for your sex—those hurt boys have pleaded for you—I might as well tell you that I'm going to put my stove in the outhouse and open up the chimney in the living room."
"Mam'selle! This is surrender indeed! A triumph of soul over matter!" cried Law.
"This winter you can think of me toasting my shins and shivering up the back, Mr. Law." Jo smiled broadly.
Anderson Law threw his head back and laughed. Jo's plain, unvarnished Anglo-Saxon was like a northwest wind to his mind.
And just then the postman jogged in sight, reading the postcards with relish and letting his old horse find his own way along the road.
"Where is Donelle?" Law was asking as the mail man paused at the gate. Jo's eyes darkened.
"Knitting and thinking down in the river-cabin. Nick's with her. Mr. Law, there are times when I think that dog has a soul."
"I never doubt it, Mam'selle. One look in his eyes is enough. But what, now, about Nick?"
"When he thinks the child has been alone long enough he goes after her. She says he tugs at her skirt until she follows. He cries if she holds back. Mr. Law, I fear Donelle is—is—taking to Tom's road."