“Indeed!” said Pickett, with the same incredulous smile.
“You should have seen her at work,” went on Alvin, “jumping over the badger and gopher holes and mounds. I had only to sit tight, and she would collect the strayed oxen better than any dog. She knew all their names as well as I did.”
“Perhaps she could talk?” suggested Pickett, winking at the company generally.
Alvin was annoyed, and said no more for some time, so Mrs. Pickett kept the ball rolling.
“I think Canada would be a bit too lively for me,” she said.
“Most people don’t think it lively,” put in Mrs. Le Breton.
“You are thinking of the prairie, mother,” said Eweretta, who had not before spoken. “The towns are quite different. Montreal is gay enough.”
“Do you keep chickens?” asked Mrs. Pickett.
“At Montreal?” demanded Eweretta.
“No, at the White House,” laughed Mrs. Pickett. “You ought to, for you have plenty of room.”