at big one--girls didn't get him, I guess, for
all their threats, or I'd heard about it. And I reckon I'll take the
evening train home. Shoulda gone yesterday, by rights. I'd like to get
a basket uh fish to take up with me. Great coffee, Mrs. Hart, and such
cream I never did see. I sure do hate to leave so many good things
and go back to a boardin' house. Look at this honey, now!" He sighed
gluttonously, leaning slightly over the table while he fed.

"Dogs were barking at something down in the orchard," Wally volunteered,
passing over Baumberger's monologue. "I was going down there, but it was
so dark--and I thought maybe it was Gene's ghost. That was before the
moon came up. Got any more biscuits, mum?"

"My trap wasn't sprung behind the chicken-house," said Donny. "I looked,
first thing."

"Dogs," drawled Baumberger, his enunciation muffled by the food in his
mouth, "always bark. And cats fight on shed-roofs. Next door to where I
board there's a dog that goes on shift as regular as a policeman. Every
night at--"

"Oh, Aunt Phoebe!" Evadna, crisp and cool in a summery dress of some
light-colored stuff, and looking more than ever like a Christmas angel
set a-flutter upon the top of a holiday fir in a sudden gust of wind,
threw open the door, rushed halfway into the room, and stopped beside
the chair of her aunt. Her hands dropped to the plump shoulder of the
sitter. "Aunt Phoebe, there's a man down at the farther end of the
strawberry patch! He's got a gun, Aunt Phoebe, and he's camped there,
and when he heard me he jumped up and pointed the gun straight at me!"

"Why, honey, that can't be--you must have seen an Indian prowling after
windfalls off the apricot trees there. He wouldn't hurt you." Phoebe
reached up, and caught the hands in a reassuring clasp.

Evadna's eyes strayed from one face to another around the table till
they rested upon Good Indian, as having found sanctuary there.

"But, Aunt Phoebe, he was WASN'T. He was a white man. And he has a camp
there, right by that tree the lightning peeled the bark off. I was close
before I saw him, for he was sitting down and the currant bushes were
between. But I went through to get round where Uncle Hart has been
irrigating and it's all mud, and he jumped up and pointed the gun AT me.
Just as if he was going to shoot me. And I turned and ran." Her fingers
closed upon the hand of her aunt, but her eyes clung to Good Indian, as
though it was to him she was speakin