"You'll always be Marta. But it makes no difference; you'll soon be changing your name for keeps. You can't ever lose me, now, and love has Mrs. Kingdon and all the rest of them beat for what you call reforming."

"If I had only known long ago that there were folks like you and Mrs.

Kingdon and--"

"Never mind long ago. There's nothing to it. Let's talk about the little shack we are going to put up in these hills somewhere. Like it?"

"It seems like a beautiful dream up here, Jo. Too good for me."

He looked down into the kitten face with its eyes of Irish blue.

"Nothing in the world is too good for you, my Marta."

"Miss Lamont said I could play I had died and been born again. She said it was a good way to turn over a new leaf."

"You will be born again as Mrs. Jo Gary."

Time went very swiftly then, and it was Marta who realized Pen might be expecting to see her.

"Please start me in the right direction, Jo."

"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--"

"Until she has her right name, Marta Gary," finished Jo.

Kurt smiled condoningly.

"Mrs. Kingdon always knows what is best."

"That is what Miss Lamont said. She said that with Jo to love me and Mrs.

Kingdon to advise me I couldn't help but be--what I want to be."

"Did she say that?" he asked eagerly, a light in his eyes. "She was right."

"She left out _her_ help. It was Jo that first made me want to be straight, but it was Miss Lamont who gave me the chance. Isn't she grand, Mr. Walters? She has such a kind heart."

"Will you tell me something about her, Marta? Is--"

He stopped abruptly. It wouldn't be just the right thing to cross-examine this little girl about her "particular pal."

"I'll see you again, soon," he said, and went on to the garage.

The sound of Jo's jolly laugh with the little added tender note made him turn and look after them. They had stopped on their way and were looking into each other's eyes, oblivious to all else but the happiness to be found in the kingdom of love and youth.

Silhouetted on the crest of the hill they stood--Jo, lean, long and picturesque in his rough clothes; Marta, neat and natty from her little pumps to her shining yellow hair smoothed back over her forehead.

With the feeling that he also was initiated into the Great Brotherhood and had recognized the tokens of membership, he went about his tasks, seeing a vision of a girl with a sweetness in her eyes that often belied the bantering of her tone.

When he came up to dinner, Pen's place was vacant.

"Bobbie won't eat with us," explained Francis. "Nora didn't, you know.

Aunt Pen thought she might be lonesome eating her first meal all alone, so they are having their dinner together."

Marta's words, "she has such a kind heart," came back to him.

"She is right," he said. "Marta knows."

And suddenly there was born in him a deep compa.s.sion for all women of her kind. In vain he waited for Pen in the library that night. But, feeling she was in deep waters, Pen had resolved to stay in her room.

CHAPTER XI

Outside her door Pen found Betty waiting expectantly.

"Bobbie gave us a nickel apiece not to disturb you," she began glibly.

"She said you had a headache last night. And father's come home and brought a man with him. And mother's coming soon."

Pen found herself only languidly interested in these announcements. She listened distraitly to the prattle of the children who surrounded her while she was served with toast and coffee.

"Father and the man are motoring around the ranch," said Francis, "but they will be back to lunch."

This roused her to the extent of making a more elaborate toilet than usual. She came into the library shortly before the luncheon hour, clad in one of the gowns she had taken from the trunk Marta had brought, her hair done with exquisite care.

"Why, Aunty Pen!" cried Betty. "You look so different. You look grown up."

"I am, Betty," she said gravely.

"Miss Pen!" exclaimed Kingdon, coming forward. "Our hills have gotten in their curative powers speedily. I was afraid you were of the lily family, but I see you are a bud of the rose."