"Which cow?--why--the blue cow--there ain't none of the others that's giving any, to speak of," said Barby looking at her. "Don't you know,--the cow you said them carrots should be kept for?"
Fleda half laughed, as there began to rise up before her the various magazines of vegetables, grain, hay, and fodder, that for many weeks had been deliciously distant from her imagination.
"I made butter for four weeks, I guess, after you went away," Barby went on;--"just come in here and see--and the carrots makes it as yellow and sweet as June--I churned as long as I had anything to churn, and longer; and now we live on cream--you can make some cheesecakes just as soon as you're a mind to,--see! ain't that doing pretty well?--and fine it is,--put your nose down to it--"
"Bravely, Barby--and it is very sweet."
"You ha'n't left nothing behind you in New York, have you?" said Barby when they returned to the kitchen.
"Left anything! no,--what do you think I have left?"
"I didn't know but you might have forgotten to pack up your memory," said Barby dryly.
Fleda laughed; and then in walked Mr. Douglass.
"How d'ye do?" said he. "Got back again. I heerd you was hum, and so I thought I'd just step up and see. Been getting along pretty well?"
Fleda answered, smiling internally at the wide distance between her "getting along" and his idea of it.