All, that is, save Good Indian himself, and perhaps one other.
. . . . . . . . .
Peaceful cleared his white mustache and beard from a few stray drops of coffee and let his mild blue eyes travel slowly around the table, from one tanned young face to another.
"Now the excitement's all over and done with," he drawled in his half-apologetic tones, "it wouldn't be a bad idea for you boys to get to work and throw the water back where it belongs. I dunno but what the garden's spoiled already; but the small fruit can be saved."
"Clark and I was going up to the Injun camp," spoke up Gene. "We wanted to see--"
"You'll have to do some riding to get there," Good Indian informed them dryly. "They hit the trail before sunrise this morning."
"Huh! What were YOU doing up there that time of day?" blurted Wally, eying him sharply.
"Watching the sun rise." His lips smiled over the retort, but his eyes did not. "I'll lower the water in your milk-house now, Mother Hart," he promised lightly, "so you won't have to wear rubber-boots when you go to skim the milk." He gave Evadna a quick, sidelong glance as she came into the room, and pushed back his chair. "I'll get at it right away," he said cheerfully, picked up his hat, and went out whistling. Then he put his head in at the door. "Say," he called, "does anybody know where that long-handled shovel is?" Again he eyed Evadna without seeming to see her at all.
"If it isn't down at the stable," said Jack soberly, "or by the apple-cellar or somewhere around the pond or garden, look along the ditches as far up as the big meadow. And if you don't run across it there--" The door slammed, and Jack laughed with his eyes fast shut and three dimples showing.
Evadna sank listlessly into her chair and regarded him and all her little world with frank disapproval.
"Upon my WORD, I don't see how anybody can laugh, after what has happened on this place," she said dismally, "or--WHISTLE, after--" Her lips quivered a little. She was a distressed Christmas angel, if ever there was one.
Wally snorted. "Want us to go CRYING around because the row's over?" he demanded. "Think Grant ought to wear crepe, I suppose--because he ain't on ice this morning--or in jail, which he'd hate a lot worse. Think we ought to go around with our jaws hanging down so you could step on 'em, because Baumberger cashed in? Huh! All hurts MY feelings is, I didn't get a whack at the old devil myself!" It was a long speech for Wally to make, and he made it with deliberate malice.