"How did you get home the other night?" said the farmer. "Did you get over the river?" Then shifting his ground as Miss Harrison and Stranger came up into the group, he changed his question.
"I say Mr. Linden!—I heerd Quapaw creek was choked up the other night—how did you get home?"
"The same way I expect to now," said Mr. Linden. "How did you, Mr.
Simlins."
"The harness was all right," said Mr. Simlins—"if anything else was in a disorganized state, 'twas somebody's fault besides yourn. That lynch-pin made trouble though; it didn't fit more places than one. Did you get across Quapaw creek on your horses?"
"Do you suppose I crossed on foot?" said Mr. Linden smiling. "Do you take me for a witch, Mr. Simlins?"
"I haven't just made up my mind about that," said the farmer. "I've a temptation to think you air. What's that you're on?"
"Only a broomstick in disguise, Mr. Simlins. As he belongs to Dr.
Harrison, I am willing to own so much."
"He's as well-shaped a broomstick as ever I see," said the farmer consideratively. "I shouldn't mind puttin' him in harness. Well good-day! I'm glad this girl didn't have to go all round again the other night—I was afeard she had. I'll take you over creation," he sung out after her as they parted company,—"and I'll be along Monday."
"Quapaw creek?" said Dr. Harrison, as the interrupted procession took up its line of march again,—"I think I remember that. What was the matter?"
"The bridge was broken, with a loaded wagon upon it," Faith explained.