"I wish you would."
As Miss Georgie went past them down the steps, her face had the
set look of one who is consciously and deliberately cheerful
under trying conditions.
"Don't quarrel, children," she advised lightly. "Howdy, Mrs.
Hart? What are they trying to do--drown you?"
"Oh, these boys of mine! They'll be the death of me, what with
the things they won't do, and the things they WILL do. They're
trying now to create a water famine for the jumpers, and they're
making their own mother swim for the good of the cause." Phoebe
held out a plump hand, moist and cold from lifting cool crocks of
milk, and laughed at her own predicament.
"The water won't rise any more, Mother Hart," Grant called down
to her from the top step, where he was sitting unblushingly
beside Evadna. "I told you six inches would be the limit, and
then it would run off in the new ditch. You know I explained
just why--"
"Oh, yes, I know you explained just WHY," Phoebe cut in
disconsolately and yet humorously, "but explanations don't seem
to help my poor milk-house any.
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