“Dump!” exclaimed Mr. Romayne faintly.
“Yes. The bank there where you dump the logs into the creek below.”
“But what exactly has Miss Nora to do with all this?”
“I?” enquired Nora, “I only boss the job.”
“Don't you believe her,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “I happen to remember one winter day coming upon this young lady in these very woods driving her team and hauling logs to the dump while Sam and Joe did the cutting. Ask the boys there? And why shouldn't she?” continued Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “She can run a farm, with garden, pigs and poultry thrown in; open a coal mine and—”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Nora, “the boys here do it all. Mother furnishes the head work.”
“Oh, Nora!” protested Kathleen, “you know you manage everything. Isn't that true, boys?”
“She's the hull works herself,” said Sam. “Ain't she, Joe?”
“You bet yeh,” said Joe, husky with the muffles.
“She's a corker,” continued Sam, “double compressed, compensating, forty horsepower, ain't she, Joe?”