"Didn't I?" Phoebe laughed at him openly. "I'd have been more
surprised if you hadn't. Why, my grief! I know enough about human
nature, I hope, to expect—"
"Churning?" The voice of Baumberger purred down to them. There
he stood bulkily at the top of the steps, good-naturedly regarding
them. "Mr. Hart and I are goin' to take a ride up to the
station—gotta send a telegram or two about this little affair"—he
made a motion with his pipe toward the orchard—"and I just thought
a good, cold drink of buttermilk before we start wouldn't be bad."
His glance just grazed Good Indian, and passed him over as being of
no consequence.
"If you don't happen to have any handy, it don't matter in the
least," he added, and turned to go when Phoebe shook her head.
"Anything we can get for yuh at th
