"I reckon Genevieve doesn't know much about such ranches," he observed. "As I was telling you, Miss Cordelia, coming out this afternoon, there's just as much difference in ranches as there is in folks; and ours happens to be the kind where we like all the comforts of home pretty well. To be sure, I wouldn't just like to ask Reddy or Long John to milk, maybe," he added, with a whimsical smile; "but I don't have to, you see. I've got Carlos for just such work. He looks after the vegetable garden, too, and Genevieve's flowers. By the way, dearie,"—he turned to his daughter—"Tim says Carlos has been putting in his prettiest work on your garden this summer. Be sure you don't forget to notice it."
"As if I could help noticing it," returned Genevieve. She was about to say more when there came an earnest question from Cordelia.
"Mr. Hartley, please, what did you call those two men?"
"What men?"
"The ones you—you wouldn't wish to ask to milk."
"Oh, the boys? I don't remember—I reckon 'twas Reddy and Long John that I mentioned, maybe."
"Yes, sir; that's the one I mean—the John one. What is his other name, please?"
"His surname? Why, really, Miss Cordelia, I reckon I've forgotten what it is. The boys all go by their first names, mostly, else by a nickname. Why? Found a long-lost friend?"
"Oh, no, sir. Well, I mean—that is—he may be lost, but he isn't mine," stammered Cordelia, who was always very literal.
"Then don't blush so, Cordy," bantered Tilly, wickedly, "else we shall think he is yours."