And what about the garden, and
the fruit, if you turn tho water all down into the pasture? And
what about the poor horses getting their feet wet and catching
their death of cold? And what's to hinder that man Stanley and
his gang from packing water in buckets from the lake you're going
to have in the pasture?"
She looked at Miss Georgie whimsically. "I'm an ungrateful,
bad-tempered old woman, I guess, for they're doing it because
it's the only thing they can do, since I put my foot down on all
this bombarding and burning good powder just to ease their minds.
They've got to do something, I suppose, or they'd all burst. And
I don't know but what it's a good thing for 'em to work off their
energy digging ditches, even if it don't do a mite of good."
Good Indian was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees,
murmuring lover's confidences behind the shield of his tilted
hat, which hid from all but Evadna his smiling lips and his
telltale, glowing eyes. He looked up at that last sentence,
though it is doubtful if he had heard much of what she had been
saying.
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