“He wouldn’t dare to kick,” I grinned, “with Ma behind the scheme.”
“What’s that about ‘Ma?’” came a light voice over our shoulder.
“Say, Mrs. Doane,” Poppy then jumped into a question that he had for the little old lady, “did you find out anything about the gander?”
“Laws-a-me! I wish I could find out where Pa got that gander.”
“Won’t he tell you?”
“He doesn’t remember. If I’ve asked him once I’ve asked him a dozen times. ‘Pa,’ says I, ‘where did you get that gander?—now tell me.’ But I might just as well talk to a hitching post.”
“Did the man who died here have a pet gander?” was the way the leader further tried to dig into the mystery.
“What! Corbin Danver? No, indeed. As I recall, he hated geese the same as he hated sweet cucumber pickles and safety razors.”
“And the granddaughter said nothing about a gander in her letter to you?”
“Miss Ruth? Laws-a-me, child, what are you thinking about to ask such foolish questions? Do you imagine that the gander belongs here?”