"And where?"
"To Point of Pines."
"What a lovely name. And you, what may I call you?"
"Jo, Mam'selle Jo."
"Mam'selle Jo. That is pretty, too, like Point of Pines. How kind you are and good. I did not know any one could be so good."
"Lie down now, child, and sleep."
Jo was hitching Molly to the cart; her hands fumbled and there was a deep fire in her dark eyes.
"We're going home," she said presently, but the girl was already asleep.
Through the autumn sunset and under the clear stars the little cart bobbed along to Point of Pines. The stirring in the straw, the touch, now and then, of a small, groping hand were all that disturbed Jo's troubled thoughts. When she reached her darkened house, Nick met her at the gate. Very solemnly Jo dismounted and took the dog's head in her hands.
"Nick," she explained, "Nick, it's a girl, and an ugly one at that. She's old enough to remember, too, but she don't—she don't, Nick. God help me! I'm a fool, but I could do nothing else."