Part 12 (2/2)
The children went with alacrity and returned in the same way; but Pen and Jo improved the opportunity for conversation without the three interested listeners.
”Here, Jo,” said Billy, handing over the milk when they had returned.
”Let's see you feed Mewtral. She must be hungry.”
”If she were me,” said Jo, whose eyes were s.h.i.+ning, ”she'd be too happy to eat.”
He fed the kitten and then tried in vain to obtain further converse with Pen alone, but the children out-maneuvered all his efforts and finally Pen took them back to the house.
”When?” half whispered Jo, as they were leaving.
”When Mrs. Kingdon says,” she murmured in reply.
She turned back for another glance. He was standing, cap in hand, with the air of a conqueror.
”What's the verdict on Jo?” asked Kingdon.
”Jo's inimitable,” she replied lightly.
”Wait until you dance with him,” he said. ”Jo dances his way into every girl's heart.”
”I can believe that.”
”He's one of those sunny-hearted fellows that people take to be shallow, but under the surface brightness there's a tolerably deep current. And he never nurses a grudge. If anyone should stick a knife in Jo, he'd only make a question mark of his eyebrow and give a wondering smile.”
”What I can't understand,” said Pen, ”is why the children don't like him.”
”He plagues us all the time,” complained Betty.
”It's very odd, though,” commented Kingdon, meditatively, and with a twinkle in his eye, ”how you do like to be plagued. You are always tagging at his heels. I think you must be coquetting with Jo.”
”He's so different with them from Kurt,” said Mrs. Kingdon. ”Kurt is so patient and so sweet with children. He understands them.”
”Kurt,” said Pen, ”seems to be like some things that are too good for everyday use. He should be laid away on a shelf for Sundays.” Then, meeting Mrs. Kingdon's wondering eyes, she added with a little flush: ”That isn't true--and it's unkind! I don't really mean it.”
”We are all ready for our sewing bee,” observed Mrs. Kingdon, smiling.
”What shall we begin on?”
”I'm wondering,” said Pen meditatively, ”if I hadn't better rig up something evening-like for the dance to-night. If you could let me borrow a white muslin curtain, I could easily rig it up into an impromptu dance frock.”
”Jo said he knew a man who turned an automobile into a lamp post,” said Betty.
”Oh, Betty!” laughed Pen, ”maybe there is hope for a sinner to be turned into a saint.”
”We won't have to resort to curtains,” said Mrs. Kingdon. ”I have a white satin skirt that is too short for me, and you can fas.h.i.+on a waist from a piece of white muslin.”
”And Doris left her white slippers that were too short for her,” reminded Betty.
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