Sometimes the thought would obtrude that Jessie deserved something more than the drear life of the northland. But the girl herself dispelled these thoughts. Like her mother, she had no desire beyond the home she had always known.
When Jessie hurried into the spotless kitchen her mother glanced quickly up from her cook-stove.
"What is it?" she demanded, at the sight of the eager eyes and parted lips. "You're——" She broke off with a smile. "There, child," she added, "you don't need to tell it. Your face does that. John Kars has come up the river."
The girl flushed scarlet. Her eyes were horrified.
"Why, mother," she cried dismayed, "am I so easy to read? Can—can anybody read me like—you can?"
The mother's eyes were very tender.
"I don't believe John Kars can anyway," she said reassuringly. "You see, he's a man. Is he coming along over?"
Jessie's relief was as obvious as her momentary dismay. The flush of shame faded from her pretty cheeks. Her eyes were again dancing with delight.
"Why, sure, mother," she cried. "He's coming right over—after they've fixed things with Father José. I don't think they'll be to supper. Dr. Bill's with him, of course. And say, aren't they just two dears? To see them together, and hear their fool talk, you'd think them two kids instead of two of the big men of the country. It must be good to keep a heart so young all the time. I think, mother, they must be good men. Real good men. I don't mean like Father José. But the sort who do things square because they like square living. I—I wish they lived here all the time. I—I don't know which I like best."
"I do."