The Harvester
by Gene Stratton Porter
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

BY
GENE STRATTON-PORTER

AUTHOR OF
A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST,
FRECKLES, ETC.

              THIS PORTION
     OF THE LIFE OF A MAN OF TO-DAY
IS OFFERED IN THE HOPE THAT IN CLEANLINESS,
   POETIC TEMPERMENT, AND MENTAL FORCE,
          A LIKENESS WILL BE SEEN
                  TO
           HENRY DAVID THOREAU

CHAPTER                                          
I.    Belshazzar's Decision
II.   The Effect of a Dream
III.  Harvesting the Forest
IV.   A Commission for the South Wind
V.    When the Harvester Made Good
VI.   To Labour and to Wait  
VII.  The Quest of the Dream Girl
VIII. Belshazzar's Record Point  
IX.   The Harvester Goes Courting  
X.    The Chime of the Blue Bells
XI.   Demonstrated Courtship
XII.  ``The Way of a Man with a Maid''
XIII. When the Dream Came True
XIV.  Snowy Wings  
XV.   The Harvester Interprets Life  
XVI.  Granny Moreland's Visit
XVII. Love Invades Science
XVIII. The Better Man
XIX.  A Vertical Spine
XX.   The Man in the Background
XXI.  The Coming of the Bluebird

CHARACTERS

DAVID LANGSTON, A Harvester of the Woods.
RUTH JAMESON, A Girl of the City.
GRANNY MORELAND, An Interested Neighbour.
DR. CAREY, Chief Surgeon of the Onabasha Hospital.
MRS. CAREY, Wife of the Doctor.
DR. HARMON, Who Concludes to Leave the City.
MOLLY BARNET, A Hospital Nurse with a Heart.
HENRY JAMESON, A Trader Without a Heart.
ALEXANDER HERRON, Who Made a Concession.
MRS. HERRON, A Gentle Woman.
THE KENNEDYS, Philadelphia Lawyers.

The Harvester

CHAPTER I

BELSHAZZAR'S DECISION

``Bel, come here!''
The Harvester sat in the hollow worn in the
hewed log stoop by the feet of his father and
mother and his own sturdier tread, and rested his head
against the casing of the cabin door when he gave the
command. The tip of the dog's nose touched the gravel
between his paws as he crouched flat on earth, with
beautiful eyes steadily watching the master, but he did
not move a muscle.

``Bel, come here!''

Twinkles flashed in the eyes of the man when he
repeated the order, while his voice grew more imperative as
he stretched a lean, wiry hand toward the dog. The
animal's eyes gleamed and his sensitive nose quivered, yet
he lay quietly.

``Belshazzar, kommen Sie hier!''

The body of the dog arose on straightened legs and his
muzzle dropped in the outstretched palm. A wind
slightly perfumed with the odour of melting snow and
unsheathing buds swept the lake beside them, and lifted
a waving tangle of light hair on the brow of the man, while
a level ray of the setting sun flashed across the water and
illumined the graven, sensitive face, now alive with keen
interest in the game being played.

``Bel, dost remember the day?'' inquired the Harvester.

The eager attitude and anxious eyes of the dog betrayed
that he did not, but was waiting with every sense alert
for a familiar word that would tell him what was
expected.

``Surely you heard the killdeers crying in the night,''
prompted the man. ``I called your attention when the
ecstasy of the first bluebird waked the dawn. All day
you have seen the gold-yellow and blood-red osiers, the
sap-wet maples and spring tracing announcements of her
arrival on the sunny side of the levee.''

The dog found no clew, but he recognized tones he
loved in the suave, easy voice, and his tail beat his sides
in vigorous approval. The man nodded gravely.

``Ah, so! Then you realize this day to be the most
important of all the coming year to me; this hour a solemn
one that influences my whole after life. It is time for
your annual decision on my fate for a twelve-month.
Are you sure you are fully alive to the gravity of the
situation, Bel?''

The dog felt himself safe in answering a rising inflection
ending in his name uttered in that tone, and wagged
eager assent.

``Well then,'' said the man, ``which shall it be? Do I
leave home for the noise and grime of the city, open an
office and enter the money-making scramble?''

Every word was strange to the dog, almost breathlessly
waiting for a familiar syllable. The man gazed
steadily into the animal's eyes. After a long pause he
continued:

``Or do I remain at home to harvest the golden seal,
mullein, and ginseng, not to mention an occasional hour
with the black bass or tramps for partridge and cotton-
tails?''

The dog recognized each word of that. Before the
voice ceased, his sleek sides were quivering, his nostrils
twitching, his tail lashing, and at the pause he leaped up
and thrust his nose against the face of the man. The
Harvester leaned back laughing in deep, full-chested
tones; then he patted the dog's head with one hand and
renewed his grip with the other.

``Good old Bel!'' he cried exultantly. ``Six years you
have decided for me, and right----every time! We are of
the woods, Bel, born and reared here as our fathers before
us. What would we of the camp fire, the long trail, the
earthy search, we harvesters of herbs the famous chemists
require, what would we do in a city? And when the sap
is rising, the bass splashing, and the wild geese honking
in the night! We never could endure it, Bel.

``When we delivered that hemlock at the hospital
to-day, did you hear that young doctor talking about his
`lid'? Well up there is ours, old fellow! Just sky and clouds
overhead for us, forest wind in our faces, wild perfume in
our nostrils, muck on our feet, that's the life for us. Our
blood was tainted to begin with, and we've lived here so
long it is now a passion in our hearts. If ever you sentence
us to life in the city, you'll finish both of us, that's
what you'll do! But you won't, will you? You realize
what God made us for and what He made for us, don't
you, Bel?''

As he lovingly patted the dog's head the man talked and
the animal trembled with delight. Then the voice of the
Harvester changed and dropped to tones of gravest
import.

``Now how about that other matter, Bel? You always
decide that too. The time has come again. Steady now!
This is far more important than the other. Just to be
wiped out, Bel, pouf! That isn't anything and it concerns
no one save ourselves. But to bring misery into
our lives and live with it daily, that would be a
condition to rend the soul. So careful, Bel! Cautious
now!''

The voice of the man dropped to a whisper as he asked
the question.

``What about the girl business?''

Trembling with eagerness to do the thing that would
bring more caressing, bewildered by unfamiliar words
and tones, the dog hesitated.

``Do I go on as I have ever since mother left me,
rustling for grub, living in untrammelled freedom? Do
I go on as before, Bel?''

The Harvester paused and waited the answer, with
anxiety in his eyes as he searched the beast face. He
had talked to that dog, as most men commune with their
souls, for so long and played the game in such intense
earnest that he felt the results final with him. The
animal was immovable now, lost again, his anxious eyes
watching the face of the master, his eager ears waiting
for words he recognized. After a long time the man
continued slowly and hesitantly, as if fearing the outcome.
He did not realize that there was sufficient anxiety in his
voice to change its tones.

``Or do I go courting this year? Do I rig up in
uncomfortable store-clothes, and parade before the country and
city girls and try to persuade the one I can get,
probably----not the one I would want----to marry me, and
come here and spoil all our good times? Do we want
a woman around scolding if we are away from home,
whining because she is lonesome, fretting for luxuries
we cannot afford to give her? Are you going to let us in
for a scrape like that, Bel?''

The bewildered dog could bear the unusual scene no
longer. Taking the rising inflection, that sounded more
familiar, for a cue, and his name for a certainty, he
sprang forward, his tail waving as his nose touched the
face of the Harvester. Then he shot across the driveway
and lay in the spice thicket, half the ribs of one
side aching, as he howled from the lowest depths of
dog misery.

``You ungrateful cur!'' cried the Harvester. ``What
has come over you? Six years I have trusted you, and
the answer has been right, every time! Confound your
picture! Sentence me to tackle the girl proposition! I
see myself! Do you know what it would mean? For
the first thing you'd be chained, while I pranced over the
country like a half-broken colt, trying to attract some
girl. I'd have to waste time I need for my work and
spend money that draws good interest while we sleep, to
tempt her with presents. I'd have to rebuild the cabin
and there's not a chance in ten she would not fret the life
out of me whining to go to the city to live, arrange for her
here the best I could. Of all the fool, unreliable dogs that
ever trod a man's tracks, you are the limit! And you
never before failed me! You blame, degenerate pup,
you!''

The Harvester paused for breath and the dog subsided
to a pitiful whimper. He was eager to return to the
man who had struck him the first blow his pampered
body ever had received; but he could not understand a
kick and harsh words for him, so he lay quivering with
anxiety and fear.

``You howling, whimpering idiot!'' exclaimed the
Harvester. ``Choose a day like this to spoil! Air to
intoxicate a mummy! Roots swelling! Buds bursting! Harvest
close and you'd call me off and put me at work
like that, would you? If I ever had supposed
lost all your senses, I never would have asked you.
Six years you have decided my fate, when the first
bluebird came, and you've been true blue every time.
If I ever trust you again!  But the mischief is done
now.

``Have you forgotten that your name means `to protect?'
Don't you remember it is because of that, it is
your name? Protect! I'd have trusted you with my
life, Bell! You gave it to me the time you pointed that
rattler within six inches of my fingers in the blood-root
bed. You saw the falling limb in time to warn me. You
always know where the quicksands lie. But you are
protecting me now, like sin, ain't you? Bring a girl
here to spoil both our lives! Not if I know myself!
Protect!''

The man arose and going inside the cabin closed the
door. After that the dog lay in abject misery so deep
that two big tears squeezed from his eyes and rolled down
his face. To be shut out was worse than the blow. He
did not take the trouble to arise from the wet leaves
covering the cold earth, but closing his eyes went to sleep.

The man leaned against the door and ran his fingers
through his hair as he anathematized the dog. Slowly his
eyes travelled around the room. He saw his tumbled bed
by the open window facing the lake, the small table with
his writing material, the crude rack on the wall loaded
with medical works, botanies, drug encyclopaedias, the
books of the few authors who interested him, and the bare,
muck-tracked floor. He went to the kitchen, where he
built a fire in the cook stove, and to the smoke-house, from
which he returned with a slice of ham and some eggs. He
set some potatoes boiling and took bread, butter and milk
from the pantry. Then he laid a small note-book on the
table before him and studied the transactions of the
day.

10 lbs. wild cherry bark      6 cents       $ .60
5   ``   wahoo root bark      25 ``           1.25
20  ``   witch hazel bark      5 ``           1.00
5   ``   blue flag root       12 ``            .60
10  ``   snake root           18 ``           1.80
10  ``   blood root           12 ``           1.20
15  ``   hoarhound            10 ``           1.50
                                             -----
                                             $7.95

``Not so bad,'' he muttered, bending over the figures.
``I wonder if any of my neighbours who harvest the
fields average as well at this season. I'll wager they don't.
That's pretty fair! Some days I don't make it, and then
when a consignment of seeds go or ginseng is wanted the
cash comes in right properly. I could waste half of it on
a girl and yet save money. But where is the woman who
would be content with half? She'd want all and fret
because there wasn't more. Blame that dog!''

He put the book in his pocket, prepared and ate his
supper, heaped a plate generously, placed it on the floor
beneath the table, and set away the food that remained.

``Not that you deserve it,'' he said to space. ``You get
this in honour of your distinguished name and the faithfulness
with which you formerly have lived up to its import.
If you hadn't been a dog with more sense than some
men, I wouldn't take your going back on me now so
hard. One would think an animal of your intelligence
might realize that you would get as much of a dose as I.
Would she permit you to eat from a plate on the kitchen
floor? Not on your life, Belshazzar! Frozen scraps
around the door for you! Would she allow you to sleep
across the foot of the bed? Ho, ho, ho! Would she have
you tracking on her floor? It would be the barn, and
growling you didn't do at that. If I'd serve you right, I'd
give you a dose and allow you to see how you like it. But
it's cutting off my nose to spite my face, as the old adage
goes, for whatever she did to a dog, she'd probably do
worse to a man. I think not!''

He entered the front room and stood before a long shelf
on which were arranged an array of partially completed
candlesticks carved from wood. There were black and
white walnut, red, white, and golden oak, cherry and
curly maple, all in original designs. Some of them were
oddities, others were failures, but most of them were
unusually successful. He selected one of black walnut,
carved until the outline of his pattern was barely
distinguishable. He was imitating the trunk of a tree with
the bark on, the spreading, fern-covered roots widening
for the base, from which a vine sprang. Near the top was
the crude outline of a big night moth climbing toward
the light. He stood turning this stick with loving hands
and holding it from him for inspection.

``I am going to master you!'' he exulted. ``Your
lines are right. The design balances and it's graceful. If
I have any trouble it will be with the moth, and I think
I can manage. I've got to decide whether to use cecropia
or polyphemus before long. Really, on a walnut, and in
the woods, it should be a luna, according to the eternal
fitness of things----but I'm afraid of the trailers. They
turn over and half curl and I believe I had better not
tackle them for a start. I'll use the easiest to begin on,
and if I succeed I'll duplicate the pattern and try a luna
then. The beauties!''

The Harvester selected a knife from the box and began
carving the stick slowly and carefully. His brain was
busy, for presently he glanced at the floor.

``She'd object to that!'' he said emphatically. ``A
man could no more sit and work where he pleased than
he could fly. At least I know mother never would have
it, and she was no nagger, either. What a mother she
was! If one only could stop the lonely feeling that will
creep in, and the aching hunger born with the body, for
a mate; if a fellow only could stop it with a woman like
mother! How she revelled in sunshine and beauty!
How she loved earth and air! How she went straight to
the marrow of the finest line in the best book I could
bring from the library! How clean and true she was and
how unyielding! I can hear her now, holding me with
her last breath to my promise. If I could marry a girl
like mother----great Caesar! You'd see me buying an
automobile to make the run to the county clerk. Wouldn't
that be great! Think of coming in from a long, difficult
day, to find a hot supper, and a girl such as she must have
been, waiting for me! Bel, if I thought there was a woman
similar to her in all the world, and I had even the ghost of
a chance to win her, I'd call you in and forgive you. But
I know the girls of to-day. I pass them on the roads, on
the streets, see them in the cafe's, stores, and at the library.
Why even the nurses at the hospital, for all the gravity
of their positions, are a giggling, silly lot; and they never
know that the only time they look and act presentably to
me is when they stop their chatter, put on their uniforms,
and go to work. Some of them are pretty, then.
There's a little blue-eyed one, but all she needs is feathers
to make her a `ha! ha! bird.'  Drat that dog!''

The Harvester took the candlestick and the box of
knives, opened the door, and returned to the stoop. Belshazzar
arose, pleading in his eyes, and cautiously advanced
a few steps. The man bent over his work and
paid not the slightest heed, so the discouraged dog sank to
earth and fixedly watched the unresponsive master. The
carving of the candlestick went on steadily. Occasionally
the Harvester lifted his head and repeatedly sucked his
lungs full of air. Sometimes for an instant he scanned
the surface of the lake for signs of breaking fish or splash
of migrant water bird. Again his gaze wandered up the
steep hill, crowned with giant trees, whose swelling buds
he could see and smell. Straight before him lay a low
marsh, through which the little creek that gurgled and
tumbled down hill curved, crossed the drive some distance
below, and entered the lake of Lost Loons.

While the trees were bare, and when the air was clear as
now, he could see the spires of Onabasha, five miles away,
intervening cultivated fields, stretches of wood, the long
black line of the railway, and the swampy bottom lands
gradually rising to the culmination of the tree-crowned
summit above him. His cocks were crowing warlike
challenges to rivals on neighbouring farms. His hens
were carolling their spring egg-song. In the barn yard
ganders were screaming stridently. Over the lake and the
cabin, with clapping snowy wings, his white doves circled
in a last joy-flight before seeking their cotes in the
stable loft. As the light grew fainter, the Harvester
worked slower. Often he leaned against the casing, and
closed his eyes to rest them. Sometimes he whistled
snatches of old songs to which his mother had cradled
him, and again bits of opera and popular music he had
heard on the streets of Onabasha. As he worked, the
sun went down and a half moon appeared above the wood
across the lake. Once it seemed as if it were a silver bowl
set on the branch of a giant oak; higher, it rested a tilted
crescent on the rim of a cloud.

The dog waited until he could endure it no longer, and
straightening from his crouching position, he took a few
velvet steps forward, making faint, whining sounds in his
throat. When the man neither turned his head nor gave
him a glance, Belshazzar sank to earth again, satisfied
for the moment with being a little closer. Across Loon
Lake came the wavering voice of a night love song.
The Harvester remembered that as a boy he had shrunk
from those notes until his mother explained that they
were made by a little brown owl asking for a mate to
come and live in his hollow tree. Now he rather liked
the sound. It was eloquent of earnest pleading. With
the lonely bird on one side, and the reproachful dog eyes
on the other, the man grinned rather foolishly.

Between two fires, he thought. If that dog ever
catches my eye he will come tearing as a cyclone, and I
would not kick him again for a hundred dollars. First
time I ever struck him, and didn't intend to then. So
blame mad and disappointed my foot just shot out before
I knew it. There he lies half dead to make up, but I'm
blest if I forgive him in a hurry. And there is that
insane little owl screeching for a mate. If I'd start out
making sounds like that, all the girls would line up and
compete for possession of my happy home.

The Harvester laughed and at the sound Belshazzar
took courage and advanced five steps before he sank belly
to earth again. The owl continued its song. The Harvester
imitated the cry and at once it responded. He
called again and leaned back waiting. The notes came
closer. The Harvester cried once more and peered across
the lake, watching for the shadow of silent wings. The
moon was high above the trees now, the knife dropped in
the box, the long fingers closed around the stick, the head
rested against the casing, and the man intoned the cry
with all his skill, and then watched and waited. He had
been straining his eyes over the carving until they were
tired, and when he watched for the bird the moonlight
tried them; for it touched the lightly rippling waves of
the lake in a line of yellow light that stretched straight
across the water from the opposite bank, directly to the
gravel bed below, where lay the bathing pool. It made
a path of gold that wavered and shimmered as the water
moved gently, but it appeared sufficiently material to
resemble a bridge spanning the lake.

``Seems as if I could walk it,'' muttered the Harvester.

The owl cried again and the man intently watched the
opposite bank. He could not see the bird, but in the
deep wood where he thought it might be he began to
discern a misty, moving shimmer of white. Marvelling,
he watched closer. So slowly he could not detect motion
it advanced, rising in height and taking shape.

``Do I end this day by seeing a ghost?'' he queried.

He gazed intently and saw that a white figure really
moved in the woods of the opposite bank.

``Must be some boys playing fool pranks!'' exclaimed
the Harvester.

He watched fixedly with interested face, and then
amazement wiped out all other expression and he sat
motionless, breathless, looking, intently looking. For
the white object came straight toward the water and at
the very edge unhesitatingly stepped upon the bridge of
gold and lightly, easily advanced in his direction. The man
waited. On came the figure and as it drew closer he could
see that it was a very tall, extremely slender woman,
wrapped in soft robes of white. She stepped along
the slender line of the gold bridge with grace unequalled.

From the water arose a shining mist, and behind the
advancing figure a wall of light outlined and rimmed her
in a setting of gold. As she neared the shore the
Harvester's blood began to race in his veins and his lips parted
in wonder. First she was like a slender birch trunk, then
she resembled a wild lily, and soon she was close enough
to prove that she was young and very lovely. Heavy
braids of dark hair rested on her head as a coronet. Her
forehead was low and white. Her eyes were wide-open
wells of darkness, her rounded cheeks faintly pink, and
her red lips smiling invitation. Her throat was long,
very white, and the hands that caught up the fleecy robe
around her were rose-coloured and slender. In a panic
the Harvester saw that the trailing robe swept the undulant
gold water, but was not wet; the feet that alternately
showed as she advanced were not purple with cold, but
warm with a pink glow.

She was coming straight toward him, wonderful,
alluring, lovely beyond any woman the Harvester ever
had seen. Straightway the fountains of twenty-six years'
repression overflowed in the breast of the man and all
his being ran toward her in a wave of desire. On she
came, and now her tender feet were on the white gravel.
When he could see clearly she was even more beautiful
than she had appeared at a distance. He opened his lips,
but no sound came. He struggled to rise, but his legs
would not bear his weight. Helpless, he sank against
the casing. The girl walked to his feet, bent, placed a
hand on each of his shoulders, and smiled into his eyes.
He could scent the flower-like odour of her body and
wrapping, even her hair. He struggled frantically to
speak to her as she leaned closer, yet closer, and softly
but firmly laid lips of pulsing sweetness on his in a
deliberate kiss.

The Harvester was on his feet now. Belshazzar shrank
into the shadows.

``Come back!'' cried the man. ``Come back! For
the love of mercy, where are you?''

He ran stumblingly toward the lake. The bridge of
gold was there, the little owl cried lonesomely; and did
he see or did he only dream he saw a mist of white vanishing
in the opposite wood?

His breath came between dry lips, and he circled the
cabin searching eagerly, but he could find nothing, hear
nothing, save the dog at his heels. He hurried to the
stoop and stood gazing at the molten path of moonlight.
One minute he was half frozen, the next a rosy glow
enfolded him. Slowly he lifted a hand and touched his
lips. Then he raised his eyes from the water and swept
the sky in a penetrant gaze.

``My gracious Heavenly Father,'' said the Harvester
reverently. ``Would it be like that?''

CHAPTER II

THE EFFECT OF A DREAM

Fully convinced at last that he had been dreaming,
the Harvester picked up his knives and
candlestick and entered the cabin. He placed
them on a shelf and turned away, but after a second's
hesitation he closed the box and arranged the sticks
neatly. Then he set the room in order and carefully
swept the floor. As he replaced the broom he thought
for an instant, then opened the door and whistled softly.
Belshazzar came at a rush. The Harvester pushed the
plate of food toward the hungry dog and he ate greedily.
The man returned to the front room and closed the door.

He stood a long time before his shelf of books, at last
selected a volume of ``Medicinal Plants'' and settled
to study. His supper finished, Belshazzar came scratching
and whining at the door. Several times the man
lifted his head and glanced in that direction, but he only
returned to his book and read again. Tired and sleepy,
at last, he placed the volume on the shelf, went to a
closet for a pair of bath towels, and hung them across a
chair. Then he undressed, opened the door, and ran
for the lake. He plunged with a splash and swam vigorously
for a few minutes, his white body growing pink
under the sting of the chilled water. Over and over he
scanned the golden bridge to the moon, and stood an
instant dripping on the gravel of the landing to make sure
that no dream woman was crossing the wavering floor!
He rubbed to a glow and turned back the covers of his
bed. The door and window stood wide. Before he lay
down, the Harvester paused in arrested motion a second,
then stepped to the kitchen door and lifted the latch.

As the man drew the covers over him, the dog's nose
began making an opening, and a little later he quietly
walked into the room. The Harvester rested, facing
the lake. The dog sniffed at his shoulder, but the man
was rigid. Then the click of nails could be heard on the
floor as Belshazzar went to the opposite side. At his
accustomed place he paused and set one foot on the bed.
There was not a sound, so he lifted the other. Then
one at a time he drew up his hind feet and crouched as
he had on the gravel. The man lay watching the bright
bridge. The moonlight entered the window and flooded
the room. The strong lines on the weather-beaten face
of the Harvester were mellowed in the light, and he
appeared young and good to see. His lithe figure stretched
the length of the bed, his hair appeared almost white,
and his face, touched by the glorifying light of the moon,
was a study.

One instant his countenance was swept with ultimate
scorn; then gradually that would fade and the lines soften,
until his lips curved in child-like appeal and his eyes
were filled with pleading. Several times he lifted a
hand and gently touched his lips, as if a kiss were a material
thing and would leave tangible evidence of having
been given. After a long time his eyes closed and he
scarcely was unconscious before Belshazzar's cold nose
touched the outstretched hand and the Harvester lifted
and laid it on the dog's head.

``Forgive me, Bel,'' he muttered. ``I never did that.
I wouldn't have hurt you for anything. It happened
before I had time to think.''

They both fell asleep. The clear-cut lines of manly
strength on the face of the Harvester were touched to
tender beauty. He lay smiling softly. Far in the night
he realized the frost-chill and divided the coverlet with
the happy Belshazzar.

The golden dream never came again. There was no
need. It had done its perfect work. The Harvester
awoke the next morning a different man. His face was
youthful and alive with alert anticipation. He began
his work with eager impetuosity, whistling and singing
the while, and he found time to play with and talk to
Belshazzar, until that glad beast almost wagged off his
tail in delight. They breakfasted together and arranged
the rooms with unusual care.

``You see,'' explained the Harvester to the dog, ``we
must walk neatly after this. Maybe there is such a
thing as fate. Possibly your answer was right. There
might be a girl in the world for me. I don't expect it,
but there is a possibility that she may find us before we
locate her. Anyway, we should work and be ready.
All the old stock in the store-house goes out as soon as
we can cart it. A new cabin shall rise as fast as we
can build it. There must be a basement and furnace,
too. Dream women don't have cold feet, but if there is
a girl living like that, and she is coming to us or waiting
for us to come to her, we must have a comfortable home
to offer. There should be a bathroom, too. She couldn't
dip in the lake as we do. And until we build the new
house we must keep the old one clean, just on the chance
of her happening on us. She might be visiting some
of the neighbours or come from town with some one
or I might see her on the street or at the library or
hospital or in some of the stores. For the love of mercy,
help me watch for her, Bel! The half of my kingdom
if you will point her for me!''

The Harvester worked as he talked. He set the rooms
in order, put away the remains of breakfast, and started
to the stable. He turned back and stood for a long time,
scanning the face in the kitchen mirror. Once he went
to the door, then he hesitated, and finally took out his
shaving set and used it carefully and washed vigorously.
He pulled his shirt together at the throat, and hunting
among his clothing, found an old red tie that he knotted
around his neck. This so changed his every-day appearance
that he felt wonderfully dressed and whistled gaily
on his way to the barn. There he confided in the old
gray mare as he curried and harnessed her to the spring
wagon.

``Hardly know me, do you, Betsy?'' he inquired.
``Well, I'll explain. Our friend Bel, here, has doomed me
to go courting this year. Wouldn't that durnfound you?
I was mad as hornets at first, but since I've slept on the
idea, I rather like it. Maybe we are too lonely and dull.
Perhaps the right woman would make life a very different
matter. Last night I saw her, Betsy, and between
us, I can't tell even you. She was the loveliest, sweetest
girl on earth, and that is all I can say. We are going to
watch for her to-day, and every trip we make, until
we find her, if it requires a hundred years. Then some
glad time we are going to locate her, and when we do, well,
you just keep your eye on us, Betsy, and you'll see how
courting straight from the heart is done, even if we lack
experience.''

Intoxicated with new and delightful sensations his
tongue worked faster than his hands.

``I don't mind telling you, old faithful, that I am in
love this morning,'' he said. ``In love heels over, Betsy,
for the first time in all my life. If any man ever was a
bigger fool than I am to-day, it would comfort me to
know about it. I am acting like an idiot, Betsy. I know
that, but I wish you could understand how I feel. Power!
I am the head-waters of Niagara! I could pluck down
the stars and set them in different places! I could twist
the tail from the comet! I could twirl the globe on my
palm and topple mountains and wipe lakes from
the surface! I am a live man, Betsy. Existence is over.
So don't you go at any tricks or I might pull off your
head. Betsy, if you see the tallest girl you ever saw,
and she wears a dark diadem, and has big black eyes and
a face so lovely it blinds you, why you have seen Her, and
you balk, right on the spot, and stand like the rock of
Gibraltar, until you make me see her, too. As if I wouldn't
know she was coming a mile away! There's more I
could tell you, but that is my secret, and it's too precious
to talk about, even to my best friends. Bel, bring Betsy
to the store-room.''

The Harvester tossed the hitching strap to the dog and
walked down the driveway to a low structure built on
the embankment beside the lake. One end of it was a
dry-house of his own construction. Here, by an arrangement
of hot water pipes, he evaporated many of the barks,
roots, seeds, and leaves he grew to supply large concerns
engaged in the manufacture of drugs. By his process
crude stock was thoroughly cured, yet did not lose in
weight and colour as when dried in the sun or outdoor
shade.

So the Harvester was enabled to send his customers
big packages of brightly coloured raw material, and the
few cents per pound he asked in advance of the catalogued
prices were paid eagerly. He lived alone, and never
talked of his work; so none of the harvesters of the fields
adjoining dreamed of the extent of his reaping. The
idea had been his own. He had been born in the cabin
in which he now lived. His father and grandfather
were old-time hunters of skins and game. They had
added to their earnings by gathering in spring and fall
the few medicinal seeds, leaves, and barks they knew.
His mother had been of different type. She had
loved and married the picturesque young hunter, and
gone to live with him on the section of land taken
by his father. She found life, real life, vastly different
from her girlhood dreams, but she was one of those
changeless, unyielding women who suffer silently, but
never rue a bargain, no matter how badly they are
cheated. Her only joy in life had been her son. For
him she had worked and saved unceasingly, and when
he was old enough she sent him to the city to school
and kept pace with him in the lessons he brought home
at night.

Using what she knew of her husband's work as a guide,
and profiting by pamphlets published by the government,
every hour of the time outside school and in
summer vacations she worked in the woods with the boy,
gathering herbs and roots to pay for his education and
clothing. So the son passed the full high-school course,
and then, selecting such branches as interested him,
continued his studies alone.

From books and drug pamphlets he had learned every
medicinal plant, shrub, and tree of his vicinity, and for
years roamed far afield and through the woods collecting.
After his father's death expenses grew heavier and the
boy saw that he must earn more money. His mother
frantically opposed his going to the city, so he thought out
the plan of transplanting the stuff he gathered, to the
land they owned and cultivating it there. This work
was well developed when he was twenty, but that year
he lost his mother.

From that time he went on steadily enlarging his
species, transplanting trees, shrubs, vines, and medicinal
herbs from such locations as he found them to similar
conditions on his land. Six years he had worked
cultivating these beds, and hunting through the woods on
the river banks, government land, the great Limberlost
Swamp, and neglected corners of earth for barks and
roots. He occasionally made long trips across the
country for rapidly diminishing plants he found in the
woodland of men who did not care to bother with a few
specimens, and many big beds of profitable herbs,
extinct for miles around, now flourished on the banks of
Loon Lake, in the marsh, and through the forest rising
above. To what extent and value his venture had grown,
no one save the Harvester knew. When his neighbours
twitted him with being too lazy to plow and sow, of
``mooning'' over books, and derisively sneered when they
spoke of him as the Harvester of the Woods or the
Medicine Man, David Langston smiled and went his way.

How lonely he had been since the death of his mother
he never realized until that morning when a new idea
really had taken possession of him. From the store-
house he heaped packages of seeds, dried leaves, barks,
and roots into the wagon. But he kept a generous supply
of each, for he prided himself on being able to fill all
orders that reached him. Yet the load he took to
the city was much larger than usual. As he drove
down the hill and passed the cabin he studied the
location.

``The drainage is perfect,'' he said to Belshazzar beside
him on the seat. ``So is the situation. We get the cool
breezes from the lake in summer and the hillside warmth
in winter. View down the valley can't be surpassed. We
will grub out that thicket in front, move over the driveway,
and build a couple of two-story rooms, with basement
for cellar and furnace, and a bathroom in front of
the cabin and use it with some fixing over for a dining-
room and kitchen. Then we will deepen and widen
Singing Water, stick a bushel of bulbs and roots and
sow a peck of flower seeds in the marsh, plant a hedge
along the drive, and straighten the lake shore a little. I
can make a beautiful wild-flower garden and arrange
so that with one season's work this will appear very
well. We will express this stuff and then select and fell
some trees to-night. Soon as the frost is out of the
ground we will dig our basement and lay the foundations.
The neighbours will help me raise the logs; after that I
can finish the inside work. I've got some dried maple,
cherry, and walnut logs that would work into beautiful
furniture. I haven't forgotten the prices McLean offered
me. I can use it as well as he. Plain way the best
things are built now, I believe I could make tables
and couches myself. I can see plans in the magazines
at the library. I'll take a look when I get this off. I
feel strong enough to do all of it in a few days and I am
crazy to commence. But I scarcely know where to begin.
There are about fifty things I'd like to do. But to fell
and dry the trees and get the walls up come first, I believe.
What do you think, old unreliable?''

Belshazzar thought the world was a place of beauty
that morning. He sniffed the icy, odorous air and with
tilted head watched the birds. A wearied band of ducks
had settled on Loon Lake to feed and rest, for there was
nothing to disturb them. Signs were numerous everywhere
prohibiting hunters from firing over the Harvester's
land. Beside the lake, down the valley, crossing
the railroad, and in the farther lowlands, the dog was a
nervous quiver, as he constantly scented game or saw
birds he wanted to point. But when they neared the
city, he sat silently watching everything with alert
eyes. As they reached the outer fringe of residences
the Harvester spoke to him.

``Now remember, Bel,'' he said. ``Point me the
tallest girl you ever saw, with a big braid of dark hair,
shining black eyes, and red velvet lips, sweeter than wild
crab apple blossoms. Make a dead set! Don't allow
her to pass us. Heaven is going to begin in Medicine
Woods when we find her and prove to her that there
lies her happy home.

``When we find her,'' repeated the Harvester softly
and exultantly. ``When we find her!''

He said it again and again, pronouncing the words with
tender modulations. Because he was chanting it in
his soul, in his heart, in his brain, with his lips, he had a
hasty glance for every woman he passed. Light hair,
blue eyes, and short figures got only casual inspection:
but any tall girl with dark hair and eyes endured rather
close scrutiny that morning. He drove to the express
office and delivered his packages and then to the hospital.
In the hall the blue-eyed nurse met him and cried gaily,
``Good morning, Medicine Man!''

``Ugh! I scalp pale-faces!'' threatened the Harvester,
but the girl was not afraid and stood before him laughing.
She might have gone her way quite as well. She could
not have differed more from the girl of the newly begun
quest. The man merely touched his wide-brimmed hat
as he walked around her and entered the office of the
chief surgeon.

A slender, gray-eyed man with white hair turned from
his desk, smiled warmly, pushed a chair, and reached a
welcoming hand.

``Ah good-morning, David,'' he cried. ``You bring
the very breath of spring with you. Are you at the
maples yet?''

``Begin to-morrow,'' was the answer. ``I want to get
all my old stock off hands. Sugar water comes next,
and then the giddy sassafras and spring roots rush me,
and after that, harvest begins full force, and all my land
is teeming. This is going to be a big year. Everything
is sufficiently advanced to be worth while. I have
decided to enlarge the buildings.''

``Store-room too small?''

``Everything!'' said the Harvester comprehensively.
``I am crowded everywhere.''

The keen gray eyes bent on him searchingly.

``Ho, ho!'' laughed the doctor. `` `Crowded everywhere.'
I had not heard of cramped living quarters
before. When did you meet her?''

``Last night,'' replied the Harvester. ``Her home is
already in construction. I chose seven trees as I drove
here that are going to fall before night.''

So casual was the tone the doctor was disarmed.

``I am trying your nerve remedy,'' he said.

Instantly the Harvester tingled with interest.

``How does it work?'' he inquired.

``Finely! Had a case that presented just the symptoms
you mentioned. High-school girl broken down
from trying to lead her classes, lead her fraternity, lead
her parents, lead society----the Lord only knows what
else. Gone all to pieces! Pretty a case of nervous
prostration as you ever saw in a person of fifty. I began
on fractional doses with it, and at last got her where she
can rest. It did precisely what you claimed it would,
David.''

``Good!'' cried the Harvester. ``Good! I hoped it
would be effective. Thank you for the test. It will
give me confidence when I go before the chemists with it.
I've got a couple more compounds I wish you would
try when you have safe cases where you can do no harm.''

``You are cautious for a young man, son!''

``The woods do that. You not only discover miracles
and marvels in them, you not only trace evolution and the
origin of species, but you get the greatest lessons taught
in all the world ground into you early and alone----
courage, caution, and patience.''

``Those are the rocks on which men are stranded as a
rule. You think you can breast them, David?''

The Harvester laughed.

``Aside from breaking a certain promise mother rooted
in the blood and bones of me, if I am afraid of anything,
I don't know it. You don't often see me going head-
long, do you? As to patience! Ten years ago I began
removing every tree, bush, vine, and plant of medicinal
value from the woods around to my land; I set and sowed
acres in ginseng, knowing I must nurse, tend, and cultivate
seven years. If my neighbours had understood
what I was attempting, what do you think they would
have said? Cranky and lazy would have become adjectives
too mild. Lunatic would have expressed it better.
That's close the general opinion, anyway. Because I
will not fell my trees, and the woods hide the work I do,
it is generally conceded that I spend my time in the sun
reading a book. I do, as often as I have an opportunity.
But the point is that this fall, when I harvest that ginseng
bed, I will clear more money than my stiffest detractor
ever saw at one time. I'll wager my bank account won't
compare so unfavourably with the best of them now.
I did well this morning. Yes, I'll admit this much:
I am reasonably cautious, I'm a pattern for patience,
and my courage never has failed me yet, anyway. But
I must rap on wood; for that boast is a sign that I probably
will meet my Jonah soon.''

``David, you are a man after my own heart,'' said the
doctor. ``I love you more than any other friend I have
I wouldn't see a hair of your head changed for the world.
Now I've got to hurry to my operation. Remain as
long as you please if there is anything that interests you;
but don't let the giggling little nurse that always haunts
the hall when you come make any impression. She is
not up to your standard.''

``Don't!'' said the Harvester. ``I've learned one of
the big lessons of life since last I saw you, Doc. I have
no standard. There is just one woman in all the world
for me, and when I find her I will know her, and I will
be happy for even a glance; as for that talk of standards,
I will be only too glad to take her as she is.''

``David! I supposed what you said about enlarged
buildings was nonsense or applied to store-rooms.''

``Go to your operation!''

``David, if you send me in suspense, I may operate
on the wrong man. What has happened?''

``Nothing!'' said the Harvester. ``Nothing!''

``David, it is not like you to evade. What happened?''

``Nothing! On my word! I merely saw a vision and
dreamed a dream.''

``You! A rank materialist! Saw a vision and
dreamed a dream! And you call it nothing. Worst
thing that could happen! Whenever a man of common-
sense goes to seeing things that don't exist, and dreaming
dreams, why look out! What did you see? What did
you dream?''

``You woman!'' laughed the Harvester. ``Talk about
curiosity! I'd have to be a poet to describe my vision,
and the dream was strictly private. I couldn't tell it,
not for any price you could mention. Go to your operation.''

The doctor paused on the threshold.

``You can't fool me,'' he said. ``I can diagnose you
all right. You are poet enough, but the vision was
sacred; and when a man won't tell, it's always and forever
a woman. I know all now I ever will, because I know
you, David. A man with a loose mouth and a low mind
drags the women of his acquaintance through whatever
mire he sinks in; but you couldn't tell, David, not even
about a dream woman. Come again soon! You are
my elixir of life, lad! I revel in the atmosphere you bring.
Wish me success now, I am going to a difficult, delicate
operation.''

``I do!'' cried the Harvester heartily. ``I do! But
you can't fail. You never have and that proves you
cannot! Good-bye!''

Down the street went the Harvester, passing over city
pave with his free, swinging stride, his head high, his
face flushed with vivid outdoor tints, going somewhere
to do something worth while, the impression always left
behind him. Men envied his robust appearance and
women looked twice, always twice, and sometimes
oftener if there was any opportunity; but twice at least
was the rule. He left a little roll of bills at the bank and
started toward the library. When he entered the reading
room an attendant with an eager smile hastily came toward him.

``What will you have this morning, Mr. Langston?'' she
asked in the voice of one who would render willing service.

``Not the big books to-day,'' laughed the Harvester.
``I've only a short time. I'll glance through the magazines.''

He selected several from a table and going to a corner
settled with them and for two hours was deeply engrossed.
He took an envelope from his pocket, traced lines, and
read intently. He studied the placing of rooms, the
construction of furniture, and all attractive ideas were
noted. When at last he arose the attendant went to
replace the magazines on the table. They had been
opened widely, and as she turned the leaves they
naturally fell apart at the plans for houses or articles
of furniture.

The Harvester slowly went down the street. Before
every furniture store he paused and studied the designs
displayed in the windows. Then he untied Betsy and
drove to a lumber mill on the outskirts of the city and
made arrangements to have some freshly felled logs of
black walnut and curly maple sawed into different sizes
and put through a course in drying.

He drove back to Medicine Woods whistling, singing,
and talking to Belshazzar beside him. He ate a hasty
lunch and at three o'clock was in the forest, blazing and
felling slender, straight-trunked oak and ash of the
desired proportions.

CHAPTER III

HARVESTING THE FOREST

The forest is never so wonderful as when spring
wrestles with winter for supremacy. While
the earth is yet ice bound, while snows occasionally
fly, spring breathes her warmer breath of
approach, and all nature responds. Sunny knolls,
embankments, and cleared spaces become bare, while shadow
spots and sheltered nooks remain white. This perfumes
the icy air with a warmer breath of melting snow. The
sap rises in the trees and bushes, sets buds swelling, and
they distil a faint, intangible odour. Deep layers of
dead leaves cover the frozen earth, and the sun shining
on them raises a steamy vapour unlike anything else in
nature. A different scent rises from earth where the
sun strikes it. Lichen faces take on the brightest colours
they ever wear, and rough, coarse mosses emerge in rank
growth from their cover of snow and add another perfume
to mellowing air. This combination has breathed a
strange intoxication into the breast of mankind in all
ages, and bird and animal life prove by their actions that
it makes the same appeal to them.

Crows caw supremacy from tall trees; flickers, drunk
on the wine of nature, flash their yellow-lined wings
and red crowns among trees in a search for suitable
building places; nut-hatches run head foremost down
rough trunks, spying out larvae and early emerging insects;
titmice chatter; the bold, clear whistle of the cardinal
sounds never so gaily; and song sparrows pipe from every
wayside shrub and fence post. Coons and opossums
stir in their dens, musk-rat and ground-hog inspect the
weather, while squirrels race along branches and bound
from tree to tree like winged folk.

All of them could have outlined the holdings of the
Harvester almost as well as any surveyor. They understood
where the bang of guns and the snap of traps
menaced life. Best of all, they knew where cracked
nuts, handfuls of wheat, oats, and crumbs were scattered
on the ground, and where suet bones dangled from bushes.
Here, too, the last sheaf from the small wheat field at the
foot of the hill was stoutly fixed on a high pole, so that
the grain was free to all feathered visitors.

When the Harvester hitched Betsy, loaded his spiles
and sap buckets into the wagon, and started to the
woods to gather the offering the wet maples were pouring
down their swelling sides, almost his entire family came
to see him. They knew who fed and passed every day
among them, and so were unafraid.

After the familiarity of a long, cold winter, when it had
been easier to pick up scattered food than to search for
it, they became so friendly with the man, the dog, and
the gray horse that they hastily snatched the food offered
at the barn and then followed through the woods. The
Harvester always was particular to wear large pockets,
for it was good company to have living creatures flocking
after him, trusting to his bounty. Ajax, a shimmering
wonder of gorgeous feathers, sunned on the ridge pole
of the old log stable, preened, spread his train, and uttered
the peacock cry of defiance, to exercise his voice or to
express his emotions at all times. But at feeding hour
he descended to the park and snatched bites from the
biggest turkey cocks and ganders and reigned in power
absolute over ducks, guineas, and chickens. Then he
followed to the barn and tried to frighten crows and
jays, and the gentle white doves under the eaves.

The Harvester walked through deep leaves and snow
covering the road that only a forester could have
distinguished. Over his shoulder he carried a mattock,
and in the wagon were his clippers and an ax. Behind
him came Betsy drawing the sap buckets and big evaporating
kettles. Through the wood ranged Belshazzar,
the craziest dog in all creation. He always went wild
at sap time. Here was none of the monotony of trapping
for skins around the lake. This marked the first full
day in the woods for the season. He ranged as he pleased
and came for a pat or a look of confidence when he grew
lonely, while the Harvester worked.

At camp the man unhitched Betsy and tied her to the
wagon and for several hours distributed buckets. Then
he hung the kettles and gathered wood for the fire. At
noon he returned to the cabin for lunch and brought back
a load of empty syrup cans, and barrels in which to
collect the sap. While the buckets filled at the dripping
trees, he dug roots in the sassafras thicket to fill orders
and supply the demand of Onabasha for tea. Several
times he stopped to cut an especially fine tree.

``You know I hate to kill you,'' he apologized to the
first one he felled. ``But it certainly must be legitimate
for a man to take enough of his trees to build a
home. And no other house is possible for a creature of
the woods but a cabin, is there? The birds use of the
material they find here; surely I have the right to do the
same. Seems as if nothing else would serve, at least for
me. I was born and reared here, I've always loved
you; of course, I can't use anything else for my home.''

He swung the ax and the chips flew as he worked on
a straight half-grown oak. After a time he paused an
instant and rested, and as he did so he looked speculatively
at his work.

``I wonder where she is to-day,'' he said. ``I wonder
what she is going to think of a log cabin in the woods.
Maybe she has been reared in the city and is afraid of a
forest. She may not like houses made of logs. Possibly
she won't want to marry a Medicine Man. She may
dislike the man, not to mention his occupation. She may
think it coarse and common to work out of doors with
your hands, although I'd have to argue there is a little
brain in the combination. I must figure out all these
things. But there is one on the lady: She should have
settled these points before she became quite so familiar.
I have that for a foundation anyway, so I'll go on cutting
wood, and the remainder will be up to her when I find
her. When I find her,'' repeated the Harvester slowly.
``But I am not going to locate her very soon monkeying
around in these woods. I should be out where people
are, looking for her right now.''

He chopped steadily until the tree crashed over, and
then, noticing a rapidly filling bucket, he struck the ax
in the wood and began gathering sap. When he had
made the round, he drove to the camp, filled the kettles,
and lighted the fire. While it started he cut and scraped
sassafras roots, and made clippings of tag alder, spice
brush and white willow into big bundles that were ready
to have the bark removed during the night watch, and
then cured in the dry-house.

He went home at evening to feed the poultry and
replenish the ever-burning fire of the engine and to
keep the cabin warm enough that food would not freeze.
With an oilcloth and blankets he returned to camp and
throughout the night tended the buckets and boiling
sap, and worked or dozed by the fire between times.
Toward the end of boiling, when the sap was becoming
thick, it had to be watched with especial care so it would
not scorch. But when the kettles were freshly filled
the Harvester sat beside them and carefully split tender
twigs of willow and slipped off the bark ready to be
spread on the trays.

``You are a good tonic,'' he mused as he worked,
``and you go into some of the medicine for rheumatism.
If she ever has it we will give her some of you, and
then she will be all right again. Strange that I should
be preparing medicinal bark by the sugar camp fire,
but I have to make this hay, not while the sun shines,
but when the bark is loose, while the sap is rising. Wonder
who will use this. Depends largely on where I sell it.
Anyway, I hope it will take the pain out of some poor
body. Prices so low now, not worth gathering unless
I can kill time on it while waiting for something else.
Never got over seven cents a pound for the best I ever
sold, and it takes a heap of these little quills to make a
pound when they are dry. That's all of you----about
twenty-five cents' worth. But even that is better than
doing nothing while I wait, and some one has to keep the
doctors supplied with salicin and tannin, so, if I do,
other folks needn't bother.''

He arose and poured more sap into the kettles as it
boiled away and replenished the fire. He nibbled a twig
when he began on the spice brush. As he sat on the
piled wood, and bent over his work he was an attractive
figure. His face shone with health and was bright with
anticipation. While he split the tender bark and slipped
out the wood he spoke his thoughts slowly:

``The five cents a pound I'll get for you is even less,
but I love the fragrance and taste. You don't peel so
easy as the willow, but I like to prepare you better,
because you will make some miserable little sick child well
or you may cool some one's fevered blood. If ever she
has a fever, I hope she will take medicine made from my
bark, because it will be strong and pure. I've half a
notion to set some one else gathering the stuff and tending
the plants and spend my time in the little laboratory
compounding different combinations. I don't see what
bigger thing a man can do than to combine pure, clean,
unadulterated roots and barks into medicines that will
cool fevers, stop chills, and purify bad blood. The
doctors may be all right, but what are they going to do
if we men behind the prescription cases don't supply them
with unadulterated drugs. Answer me that, Mr. Sapsucker.
Doc says I've done mighty well so far as I
have gone. I can't think of a thing on earth I'd rather
do, and there's money no end in it. I could get too rich
for comfort in short order. I wouldn't be too wealthy
to live just the way I do for any consideration. I don't
know about her, though. She is lovely, and handsome
women usually want beautiful clothing, and a quantity
of things that cost no end of money. I may need all I
can get, for her. One never can tell.''

He arose to stir the sap and pour more from the barrels
to the kettles before he began on the tag alder he had
gathered.

``If it is all the same to you, I'll just keep on chewing
spice brush while I work,'' he muttered. ``You are
entirely too much of an astringent to suit my taste and
you bring a cent less a pound. But you are thicker and
dry heavier, and you grow in any quantity around the
lake and on the marshy places, so I'll make the size of
the bundle atone for the price. If I peel you while I wait
on the sap I'm that much ahead. I can spread you on
drying trays in a few seconds and there you are. Howl
your head off, Bel, I don't care what you have found. I
wouldn't shoot anything to-day, unless the cupboard was
bare and I was starvation hungry. In that case I think
a man comes first, and I'd kill a squirrel or quail in season,
but blest if I'd butcher a lot or do it often. Vegetables
and bread are better anyway. You peel easier even than
the willow. What jolly whistles father used to make!

``There was about twenty cents' worth of spice, and
I'll easy raise it to a dollar on this. I'll get a hundred
gallons of syrup in the coming two weeks and it will
bring one fifty if I boil and strain it carefully and can
guarantee it contains no hickory bark and brown sugar.
And it won't! Straight for me or not at all. Pure is
the word at Medicine Woods; syrup or drugs it's the same
thing. Between times I can fell every tree I'll need for
the new cabin, and average a dollar a day besides on spice,
alder, and willow, and twice that for sassafras for the
Onabasha markets; not to mention the quantities I
can dry this year. Aside from spring tea, they seem
to use it for everything. I never yet have had enough.
It goes into half the tonics, anodyne, and stimulants;
also soap and candy. I see where I grow rich in spite of
myself, and also where my harvest is going to spoil
before I can garner it, if I don't step lively and double
even more than I am now. Where the cabin is to come
in----well it must come if everything else goes.

``The roots can wait and I'll dig them next year and
get more and larger pieces. I won't really lose anything,
and if she should come before I am ready to start to find
her, why then I'll have her home prepared. How long
before you begin your house, old fire-fly?'' he inquired
of a flaming cardinal tilting on a twig.

He arose to make the round of the sap buckets again,
then resumed his work peeling bark, and so the time
passed. In the following ten days he collected and
boiled enough sap to make more syrup than he had
expected. His earliest spring store of medicinal twigs,
that were peeled to dry in quills, were all collected and
on the trays; he had digged several wagon loads of sassafras
and felled all the logs of stout, slender oak he would
require for his walls. Choice timber he had been curing
for candlestick material he hauled to the saw-mills to
have cut properly, for the thought of trying his hand
at tables and chairs had taken possession of him. He
was sure he could make furniture that would appear
quite as well as the mission pieces he admired on display
in the store windows of the city. To him, chairs and
tables made from trees that grew on land that had
belonged for three generations to his ancestors, trees among
which he had grown, played, and worked, trees that
were so much his friends that he carefully explained
the situation to them before using an ax or saw, trees
that he had cut, cured, and fashioned into designs of his
own, would make vastly more valuable furnishings in his
home than anything that could be purchased in the city.

As he drove back and forth he watched constantly
for her. He was working so desperately, planning far
ahead, doubling and trebling tasks, trying to do everything
his profession demanded in season, and to prepare
timber and make plans for the new cabin, as well as to
start a pair of candlesticks of marvellous design for her,
that night was one long, unbroken sleep of the thoroughly
tired man, but day had become a delightful dream.

He fed the chickens to produce eggs for her. He
gathered barks and sluiced roots on the raft in the lake,
for her. He grubbed the spice thicket before the door
and moved it into the woods to make space for a lawn,
for her. His eyes were wide open for every woven case
and dangling cocoon of the big night moths that propagated
around him, for her. Every night when he left
the woods from one to a dozen cocoons, that he had
detected with remarkable ease while the trees were bare,
were stuck in his hat band. As he arranged them in a
cool, dry place he talked to them.

``Of course I know you are valuable and there are
collectors who would pay well for you, but I think not.
You are the prettiest thing God made that I ever saw,
and those of you that home with me have no price on
your wings. You are much safer here than among the
crows and jays of the woods. I am gathering you to
protect you, and to show to her. If I don't find her by
June, you may go scot free. All I want is the best pattern
I can get from some of you for candlestick designs.
Of everything in the whole world a candlestick should
be made of wood. It should be carved by hand, and
of all ornamentations on earth the moth that flies to
the night light is the most appropriate. Owls are not
so bad. They are of the night, and they fly to light,
too, but they are so old. Nobody I ever have known
used a moth. They missed the best when they neglected
them. I'll make her sticks over an original pattern;
I'll twine nightshade vines, with flowers and berries
around them, and put a trailed luna on one, and what
is the next prettiest for the other? I'll think well before
if decide. Maybe she'll come by the time I get to carving
and tell me what she likes. That would beat my taste
or guessing a mile.''

He carefully arranged the twigs bearing cocoons in a
big, wire-covered box to protect them from the depredations
of nibbling mice and the bolder attacks of the
saucy ground squirrels that stored nuts in his loft and
took possession of the attic until their scampering
sometimes awoke him in the night.

Every trip he made to the city he stopped at the
library to examine plans of buildings and furniture and
to make notes. The oak he had hauled was being hewed
into shape by a neighbour who knew how, and every
wagon that carried a log to the city to be dressed at
the mill brought back timber for side walls, joists, and
rafters. Night after night he sat late poring over his
plans for the new rooms, above all for her chamber.
With poised pencil he wavered over where to put the
closet and entrance to her bath. He figured on how wide
to make her bed and where it should stand. He remembered
her dressing table in placing windows and a space
for a chest of drawers. In fact there was nothing the
active mind of the Harvester did not busy itself with
in those days that might make a woman a comfortable
home. Every thought emanated from impulses evolved
in his life in the woods, and each was executed with
mighty tenderness.

A killdeer sweeping the lake close two o'clock one
morning awakened him. He had planned to close the
sugar camp for the season that day, but when he heard
the notes of the loved bird he wondered if that would
not be a good time to stake out the foundations and
begin digging. There was yet ice in the ground, but the
hillside was rapidly thawing, and although the work
would be easier later, so eager was the Harvester to have
walls up and a roof over that he decided to commence.

But when morning came and he and Belshazzar
breakfasted and fed Betsy and the stock, he concluded to
return to his first plan and close the camp. All the sap
collected that day went into the vinegar barrel. He
loaded the kettles, buckets, and spiles and stopped at
the spice thicket to cut a bale of twigs as he passed. He
carried one load to the wagon and returned for another.
Down wind on swift wing came a bird and entered the
bushes. Motionless the Harvester peered at it. A
mourning dove had returned to him through snow,
skifting over cold earth. It settled on a limb and began
dressing its plumage. At that instant a wavering, ``Coo
coo a'gh coo,'' broke in sobbing notes from the deep
wood. Without paying the slightest heed, the dove
finished a wing, ruffled and settled her feathers, and
opened her bill in a human-like yawn. The Harvester
smiled. The notes swelled closer in renewed pleading.
The cry was beyond doubt a courting male and this
an indifferent female. Her beady eyes snapped, her
head turned coquettishly, a picture of self-possession,
she hid among the dense twigs of the spice thicket.
Around the outside circled the pleading male.

With shining eyes the Harvester watched. These
were of the things that made life in the woods most worth
while. More insistent grew the wavering notes of the
lover. More indifferent became the beloved. She was
superb in her poise as she amused herself in hiding. A
perfect burst of confused, sobbing notes broke on the
air. Then away in the deep wood a softly-wavering,
half-questioning ``Coo-ah!'' answered them. Amazement
flashed into the eyes of the Harvester, but his face
was not nearly so expressive as that of the bird. She
lifted a bewildered head and grew rigid in an attitude of
tense listening. There was a pause. In quicker measure
and crowding notes the male called again. Instantly
the soft ``Coo!'' wavered in answer. The surprised
little hen bird of the thicket hopped straight up and
settled on her perch again, her dark eyes indignant as
she uttered a short ``Coo!''  The muscles of the
Harvester's chest were beginning to twitch and quiver.
More intense grew the notes of the pleading male. Softly
seductive came the reply. The clapping of his wings
could be heard as he flew in search of the charmer. ``A'gh
coo!'' cried the deserted female as she tilted off the branch
and tore through the thicket in pursuit, with wings hastened
by fright at the ringing laugh of the Harvester.

``Not so indifferent after all, Bel,'' he said to the dog
standing in stiff point beside him. ``That was all `pretend!'
But she waited just a trifle too long. Now she
will have to fight it out with a rival. Good thing if
some of the flirtatious women could have seen that.
Help them to learn their own minds sooner.''

He laughed as he heaped the twigs on top of the wagon
and started down the hill chuckling. Belshazzar followed,
leading Betsy straight in the middle of the road by the
hitching strap. A few yards ahead the man stopped
suddenly with lifted hand. The dog and horse stood
motionless. A dove flashed across the road and settled
in sight on a limb. Almost simultaneously another
perched beside it, and they locked bills in a long caress,
utterly heedless of a plaintive ``Coo'' in the deep wood.

``Settled!'' said the Harvester. ``Jupiter! I wish my
troubles were that nearly finished! Wish I knew where
she is and how to find my way to her lips! Wonder if
she will come when I call her. What if I should find her,
and she would have everything on earth, other lovers,
and indifference worse than Madam Dove's for me.
Talk about bitterness! Well I'd have the dream left
anyway. And there are always two sides. There is
just a possibility that she may be poor and overworked,
sick and tired, and wondering why I don't come. Possibly
she had a dream, too, and she wishes I would hurry.
Dear Lord!''

The Harvester began to perspire as he strode down
the hill. He scarcely waited to hang the harness properly.
He did not stop to unload the wagon until night,
but went after an ax and a board that he split into pegs.
Then he took a ball of twine, a measuring line, and
began laying out his foundation, when the hard earth
would scarcely hold the stakes he drove into it. When
he found he only would waste time in digging he put
away the neatly washed kettles, peeled the spice brush,
spread it to dry, and prepared his dinner. After that
he began hauling stone and cement for his basement
floor and foundation walls. Occasionally he helped at
hewing logs when the old man paused to rest. That afternoon
the first robin of the season hailed him in passing.

``Hello!'' cried the Harvester. ``You don't mean
to tell me that you have beaten the larks! You really
have! Well since I see it, I must believe, but you are
early. Come around to the back door if crumbs or wheat
will do or if you can make out on suet and meat bones!
We are good and ready for you. Where is your mate?
For any sake, don't tell me you don't know. One case
of that kind at Medicine Woods is enough. Say you
came ahead to see if it is too cold or to select a home and
get ready for her. Say anything on earth except that
you love her, and want her until your body is one quivering
ache, and you don't know where she is.''

CHAPTER IV

A COMMISSION FOR THE SOUTH WIND

The next morning the larks trailed ecstasy all
over the valley, the following day cuckoos were
calling in the thickets, a warm wind swept
from the south and set swollen buds bursting, while
the sun shone, causing the Harvester to rejoice. Betsy's
white coat was splashed with the mud of the valley road;
the feet of Belshazzar left tracks over lumber piles;
and the Harvester removed his muck-covered shoes at
the door and wore slippers inside. The skunk cabbage
appeared around the edge of the forest, rank mullein and
thistles lay over the fields in big circles of green, and
even plants of delicate growth were thrusting their
heads through mellowing earth and dead leaves, to reach
light and air.

Then the Harvester took his mattock and began to
dig. His level best fell so far short of what he felt capable
of doing and desired to accomplish that the following day
he put two more men on the job. Then the earth did
fly, and so soon as the required space was excavated the
walls were lined with stone and a smooth basement
floor was made of cement. The night the new home stood,
a skeleton of joists and rafters, gleaming whitely on the
banks of Loon Lake, the Harvester went to the bridge
crossing Singing Water and slowly came up the driveway
to see how the work appeared. He caught his breath
as he advanced. He had intended to stake out generous
rooms, but this, compared with the cabin, seemed like
a big hotel.

``I hope I haven't made it so large it will be a burden,''
he soliloquized. ``It's huge! But while I am at it I
want to build big enough, and I think I have.''

He stood on the driveway, his arms folded, and looked
at the structure as he occasionally voiced his thoughts.

``The next thing is to lay up the side walls and get
the roof over. Got to have plenty of help, for those
logs are hewed to fourteen inches square and some of
them are forty feet long. That's timber! Grew with
me, too. Personally acquainted with almost every
tree of it. We will bed them in cement, use care with
the roof, and if that doesn't make a cool house in the
summer, and a warm one in winter, I'll be disappointed.
It sets among the trees, and on the hillside just right.
We must have a wide porch, plenty of flowers, vines,
ferns, and mosses, and when I get everything finished
and she sees it----perhaps it will please her.''

A great horned owl swept down the hill, crossed
the lake, and hooted from the forest of the opposite
bank. The Harvester thought of his dream and turned.

``Any women walking the water to-night? Come if
you like,'' he bantered, ``I don't mind in the least. In
fact, I'd rather enjoy it. I'd be so happy if you would
come now and tell me how this appears to you, for it's
all yours. I'd have enlarged the store-room, dry-houses
and laboratory for myself, but this cabin, never! The
old one suited me as it was; but for you----I should have
a better home.''

The Harvester glanced from the shining skeleton to
the bridge of gold and back again.

``Where are you to-night?'' he questioned. ``What
are you doing? Can't you give me a hint of where to
search for you when this is ready? I don't know but I
am beginning wrong. My little brothers of the wood
do differently. They announce their intentions the
first thing, flaunt their attractions, and display their
strength. They say aloud, for all the listening world to
hear, what is in their hearts. They chip, chirp, and sing,
warble, whistle, thrill, scream, and hoot it. They are
strong on self-expression, and appreciative of their
appearance. They meet, court, mate, and THEN build their
home together after a mutual plan. It's a good way,
too! Lots surer of getting things satisfactory.''

The Harvester sat on a lumber pile and gazed questioningly
at the framework.

``I wish I knew if I am going at things right,'' he said.
``There are two sides to consider. If she is in a good
home, and lovingly cared for, it would be proper to court
her and get her promise, if I could----no I'm blest if I'll
be so modest----get her promise, as I said, and let her
wait while I build the cabin. But if she should be poor,
tired, and neglected, then I ought to have this ready when
I find her, so I could pick her up and bring her to it,
with no more ceremony than the birds.''

The Harvester's clear skin flushed crimson.

``Of course, I don't mean no wedding ceremony,''
he amended. ``I was thinking of a long time wasted in
preliminaries when in my soul I know I am going to marry
my Dream Girl before I ever have seen her in reality.
What would be the use in spending much time in courting?
She is my wife now, by every law of God. Let
me get a glimpse of her, and I'll prove it. But I've got
to make tracks, for if she were here, where would I put
her? I must hurry!''

He went to the work room and began polishing a table
top. He had bought a chest of tools and was spending
every spare minute on tables, chair seats, and legs.
He had decided to make these first and carve candlesticks
later when he had more time. Two hours he
worked at the furniture, and then went to bed. The
following morning he put eggs under several hens that
wanted to set, trimmed his grape-vines, examined the
precious ginseng beds, attended his stock, got breakfast
for Belshazzar and himself, and was ready for work when
the first carpenter arrived. Laying hewed logs went
speedily, and before the Harvester believed it possible
the big shingles he had ordered were being nailed on the
roof. Then came the plumber and arranged for the
bathroom, and the furnace man placed the heating pipes.
The Harvester had intended the cabin to be mostly the
work of his own hands, but when he saw how rapidly
skilled carpenters worked, he changed his mind and
had them finish the living-room, his room, and the
upstairs, and make over the dining-room and kitchen.

Her room he worked on alone, with a little help if
he did not know how to join the different parts. Every
thing was plain and simple, after plans of his own, but
the Harvester laid floors and made window casings,
seats, and doors of wood that the big factories of Grand
Rapids used in veneering their finest furniture. When
one of his carpenters pointed out this to him, and
suggested that he sell his lumber to McLean and use
pine flooring from the mills the Harvester laughed
at him.

``I don't say that I could afford to buy burl maple,
walnut, and cherry for wood-work,'' said the Harvester.
``I could not, but since I have it, you can stake your life
I won't sell it and build my home of cheap, rapidly
decaying wood. The best I have goes into this cabin
and what remains will do to sell. I have an idea that when
this is done it is going to appear first rate. Anyway, it
will be solid enough to last a thousand years, and with
every day of use natural wood grows more beautiful.
When we get some tables, couches, and chairs made
from the same timber as the casings and the floors, I
think it will be fine. I want money, but I don't want it
bad enough to part with the BEST of anything I have for
it. Go carefully and neatly there; it will have to be
changed if you don't.''

So the work progressed rapidly. When the carpenters
had finished the last stroke on the big veranda
they remained a day more and made flower boxes, and a
swinging couch, and then the greedy Harvester kept
the best man with him a week longer to help on the
furniture.

``Ain't you going to say a word about her, Langston?''
asked this man as they put a mirror-like surface on a
curly maple dressing table top.

``Her!'' ejaculated the Harvester. ``What do you
mean?''

``I haven't seen you bathe anywhere except in the
lake since I have been here,'' said the carpenter. ``Do
you want me to think that a porcelain tub, this big
closet, and chest of drawers are for you?''

A wave of crimson swept over the Harvester.

``No, they are not for me,'' he said simply. ``I don't
want to be any more different from other men than I
can help, although I know that life in the woods, the
rigid training of my mother, and the reading of only
the books that would aid in my work have made me
individual in many of my thoughts and ways. I suppose
most men, just now, would tell you anything you want
to know. There is only one thing I can say: The
best of my soul and brain, the best of my woods and
store-house, the best I can buy with money is not good
enough for her. That's all. For myself, I am getting
ready to marry, of course. I think all normal men do
and that it is a matter of plain common-sense that they
should. Life with the right woman must be infinitely
broader and better than alone. Are you married?''

``Yes. Got a wife and four children.''

``Are you sorry?''

``Sorry!'' the carpenter shrilled the word. ``Sorry!
Well that's the best I ever heard! Am I sorry I married
Nell and got the kids? Do I look sorry?''

``I am not expecting to be, either,'' said the Harvester
calmly. ``I think I have done fairly well to stick to my
work and live alone until I am twenty-six. I have
thought the thing all over and made up my mind. As
soon as I get this house far enough along that I feel I can
proceed alone I am going to rush the marrying business
just as fast as I can, and let her finish the remainder to
her liking.''

``Well this ought to please her.''

``That's because you find your own work good,''
laughed the Harvester.

``Not altogether!''  The carpenter polished the board
and stood it on end to examine the surface as he talked.
``Not altogether! Nothing but good work would suit
you. I was thinking of the little creek splashing down
the hill to the lake; and that old log hewer said that in
a few more days things here would be a blaze of colour
until fall.''

``Almost all the drug plants and bushes leaf beautifully
and flower brilliantly,'' explained the Harvester.
``I studied the location suitable to each variety before I
set the beds and planned how to grow plants for continuity
of bloom, and as much harmony of colour as possible.
Of course a landscape gardener would tear up some of
it, but seen as a whole it isn't so bad. Did you ever
notice that in the open, with God's blue overhead and
His green for a background, He can place purple and
yellow, pink, magenta, red, and blue in masses or any
combination you can mention and the brighter the colour
the more you like it? You don't seem to see or feel that
any grouping clashes; you revel in each wonderful
growth, and luxuriate in the brilliancy of the whole.
Anyway, this suits me.''

``I guess it will please her, too,'' said the carpenter.
``After all the pains you've taken, she is a good one if
it doesn't.''

``I'll always have the consolation of having done my
best,'' replied the Harvester. ``One can't do more!
Whether she likes it or not depends greatly on the way
she has been reared.''

``You talk as if you didn't know,'' commented the
carpenter.

``You go on with this now,'' said the Harvester hastily.
``I've got to uncover some beds and dig my year's supply
of skunk cabbage, else folk with asthma and dropsy who
depend on me will be short on relief. I ought to take
my sweet flag, too, but I'm so hurried now I think I'll
leave it until fall; I do when I can, because the bloom
is so pretty around the lake and the bees simply go wild
over the pollen. Sometimes I almost think I can detect
it in their honey. Do you know I've wondered often
if the honey my bees make has medicinal properties
and should be kept separate in different seasons. In
early spring when the plants and bushes that furnish
the roots and barks of most of the tonics are in bloom,
and the bees gather the pollen, that honey should partake
in a degree of the same properties and be good medicine.
In the summer it should aid digestion, and in the fall
cure rheumatism and blood disorders.''

``Say you try it!'' urged the carpenter. ``I want a
lot of the fall kind. I'm always full of rheumatism by
October. Exposure, no doubt.''

``Over eating of too much rich food, you mean,''
laughed the Harvester. ``I'd like to see any man expose
his body to more differing extremes of weather than I do,
and I'm never sick. It's because I am my own cook
and so I live mostly on fruits, vegetables, bread, milk,
and eggs, a few fish from the lake, a little game once in
a great while or a chicken, and no hot drinks; plenty of
fresh water, air, and continuous work out of doors. That's
the prescription! I'd be ashamed to have rheumatism
at your age. There's food in the cupboard if you grow
hungry. I am going past one of the neighbours on my
way to see about some work I want her to do.''

The Harvester stopped for lunch, carried food to
Belshazzar, and started straight across country, his
mattock, with a bag rolled around the handle, on his
shoulder. His feet sank in the damp earth at the foot
of the hill, and he laughed as he leaped across Singing
Water.

``You noisy chatterbox!'' cried the man. ``The
impetus of coming down the curves of the hill keeps you
talking all the way across this muck bed to the lake.
With small work I can make you a thing of beauty.
A few bushes grubbed, a little deepening where you
spread too much, and some more mallows along the
banks will do the trick. I must attend to you soon.''

``Now what does the boy want?'' laughed a white-
haired old woman, as the Harvester entered the door.
``Mebby you think I don't know what you're up to!
I even can hear the hammering and the voices of the men
when the wind is in the south. I've been wondering
how soon you'd need me. Out with it!''

``I want you to get a woman and come over and spend
a day with me. I'll come after you and bring you back.
I want you to go over mother's bedding and have what
needs it washed. All I want you to do is to superintend,
and tell me now what I will want from town for your
work.''

``I put away all your mother's bedding that you were
not using, clean as a ribbon.''

``But it has been packed in moth preventives ever
since and out only four times a year to air, as you told
me. It must smell musty and be yellow. I want
it fresh and clean.''

``So what I been hearing is true, David?''

``Quite true!'' said the Harvester.

``Whose girl is she, and when are you going to jine
hands?''

The Harvester lifted his clear eyes and hesitated.

``Doc Carey laid you in my arms when you was born,
David. I tended you 'fore ever your ma did. All
your life you've been my boy, and I love you same as my
own blood; it won't go no farther if you say so. I'll
never tell a living soul. But I'm old and 'til better
weather comes, house bound; and I get mighty lonely.
I'd like to think about you and her, and plan for you,
and love her as I always did you folks. Who is she,
David? Do I know the family?''

``No. She is a stranger to these parts,'' said the
unhappy Harvester.

``David, is she a nice girl 'at your ma would have
liked?''

``She's the only girl in the world that I'd marry,'' said
the Harvester promptly, glad of a question he could
answer heartily. ``Yes. She is gentle, very tender
and----and affectionate,'' he went on so rapidly that
Granny Moreland could not say a word, ``and as soon
as I bring her home you shall come to spend a day and
get acquainted. I know you will love her! I'll come
in the morning, then. I must hurry now. I am working
double this spring and I'm off for the skunk cabbage
bed to-day.''

``You are working fit to kill, the neighbours say.
Slavin' like a horse all day, and half the night I see your
lights burning.''

``Do I appear killed?'' laughingly inquired the Harvester.

``You look peart as a struttin' turkey gobbler,'' said
the old woman. ``Go on with your work! Work don't
hurt a-body. Eat a-plenty, sleep all you ort, and you
CAN'T work enough to hurt you.''

``So the neighbours say I'm working now? New
story, isn't it? Usually I'm too lazy to make a living,
if I remember.''

``Only to those who don't sense your purceedings,
David. I always knowed how you grubbed and slaved
an' set over them fearful books o' yours.''

``More interesting than the wildest fiction,'' said the
man. ``I'm making some medicine for your rheumatism,
Granny. It is not fully tested yet, but you get ready
for it by cutting out all the salt you can. I haven't
time to explain this morning, but you remember what I
say, leave out the salt, and when Doc thinks it's safe
I'll bring you something that will make a new woman
of you.''

He went swinging down the road, and Granny Moreland
looked after him.

``While he was talkin','' she muttered, ``I felt full of
information as a flock o' almanacs, but now since he's
gone, 'pears to me I don't know a thing more 'an I did
to start on.''

``Close call,'' the Harvester was thinking. ``Why
the nation did I admit anything to her? People may
talk as they please, so long as I don't sanction it, but I
have two or three times. That's a fool trick. Suppose
I can't find her? Maybe she won't look at me if I can.
Then I'd have started something I couldn't finish.
And if anybody thinks I'll end this by taking any girl I
can get, if I can't find Her, why they think wrongly.
Just the girl of my golden dream or no woman at all
for me. I've lived alone long enough to know how to do
it in comfort. If I can't find and win her I have no
intention of starting a boarding house.''

The Harvester began to laugh. `` `I'd rather keep
bachelor's hall in Hell than go to board in Heaven!' ''
he quoted gaily. ``That's my sentiment too. If you
can't have what you want, don't have anything. But
there is no use to become discouraged before I start.
I haven't begun to hunt her yet. Until I do, I might as
well believe that she will walk across the bridge and take
possession just as soon as I get the last chair leg polished.
She might! She came in the dream, and to come actually
couldn't be any more real. I'll make a stiff hunt of
it before I give up, if I ever do. I never yet have made a
complete failure of anything. But just now I am hunting
skunk cabbage. It's precisely the time to take it.''

Across the lake, in the swampy woods, close where the
screech owl sang and the girl of the golden dream walked
in the moonlight the Harvester began operations. He
unrolled the sack, went to one end of the bed and
systematically started a swath across it, lifting every other
plant by the roots. Flowering time was almost past,
but the bees knew where pollen ripened, and hummed
incessantly over and inside the queer cone-shaped growths
with their hooked beaks. It almost appeared as if the
sound made inside might be to give outsiders warning
not to poach on occupied territory, for the Harvester
noticed that no bee entered a pre-empted plant.

With skilful hand each stroke brought up a root and
he tossed it to one side. The plants were vastly peculiar
things. First they seemed to be a curled leaf with no
flower. In colour they shaded from yellow to almost
black mahogany, and appeared as if they were a flower
with no leaf. Closer examination proved there was a
stout leaf with a heavy outside mid-rib, the tip of which
curled over in a beak effect, that wrapped around a
peculiar flower of very disagreeable odour. The handling
of these plants by the hundred so intensified this
smell the Harvester shook his head.

``I presume you are mostly mine,'' he said to the busy
little workers around him. ``If there is anything in my
theory of honey having varying medicinal properties
at different seasons, right now mine should be good for
Granny's rheumatism and for nervous and dropsical
people. I shouldn't think honey flavoured with skunk
cabbage would be fit to eat. But, of course, it isn't all
this. There is catkin pollen on the wind, hazel and sassafras
are both in bloom now, and so are several of the
earliest little flowers of the woods. You can gather
enough of them combined to temper the disagreeable
odour into a racy sweetness, and all the shrub blooms are
good tonics, too, and some of the earthy ones. I'm
going to try giving some of you empty cases next spring
and analyzing the honey to learn if it isn't good medicine.''

The Harvester straightened and leaned on the mattock
to fill his lungs with fresh air and as he delightedly sniffed
it he commented, ``Nothing else has much of a chance
since I've stirred up the cabbage bed. I can scent the
catkins plainly, being so close, and as I came here I
could detect the hazel and sassafras all right.''

Above him a peculiar, raucous chattering for an instant
hushed other wood voices. The Harvester looked
up, laughing gaily.

``So you've decided to announce it to your tribe at
last, have you?'' he inquired. ``You are waking the
sleepers in their dens to-day? Well, there's nothing like
waiting until you have a sure thing. The bluebirds
broke the trail for the feathered folk the twenty-fourth
of February. The sap oozed from the maples about
the same time for the trees. The very first skunk cabbage
was up quite a month ago to signal other plants to
come on, and now you are rousing the furred folk. I'll
write this down in my records----`When the earliest bluebird
sings, when the sap wets the maples, when the
skunk cabbage flowers, and the first striped squirrel
barks, why then, it is spring!' ''

He bent to his task and as he worked closer the water
he noticed sweet-flag leaves waving two inches tall beneath
the surface.

``Great day!'' he cried. ``There you are making signs,
too! And right! Of course! Nature is always right.
Just two inches high and it's harvest for you. I can
use a rake, and dried in the evaporator you bring me ten
cents a pound; to the folks needing a tonic you are worth
a small fortune. No doubt you cost that by the time
you reach them; but I fear I can't gather you just now.
My head is a little preoccupied these days. What
with the cabbage, and now you, and many of the bushes
and trees making signs, with a new cabin to build and
furnish, with a girl to find and win, I'm what you might
call busy. I've covered my book shelf. I positively
don't dare look Emerson or Maeterlinck in the face.
One consolation! I've got the best of Thoreau in my
head, and if I read Stickeen a few times more I'll be able
to recite that. There's a man for you, not to mention
the dog! Bel, where are you? Would you stick to me
like that? I think you would. But you are a big,
strong fellow. Stickeen was only such a mite of a dog.
But what a man he followed! I feel as if I should put
on high-heeled slippers and carry a fan and a lace
handkerchief when I think of him. And yet, most men
wouldn't consider my job so easy!''

The Harvester rapidly pitched the evil-smelling plants
into big heaps and as he worked he imitated the sounds
around him as closely as he could. The song sparrow
laughed at him and flew away in disgust when he tried
its notes. The jay took time to consider, but was not
fooled. The nut-hatch ran head first down trees, larvae
hunting, and was never a mite deceived. But the killdeer
on invisible legs, circling the lake shore, replied
instantly; so did the lark soaring above, and the dove
of the elm thicket close beside. The glittering black
birds flashing over every tree top answered the ``T'check,
t'chee!'' of the Harvester quite as readily as their mates.

The last time he paused to rest he had studied scents.
When he straightened again he was occupied with every
voice of earth and air around and above him, and the
notes of singing hens, exultant cocks, the scream of
geese, the quack of ducks, the rasping crescendo of
guineas running wild in the woods, the imperial note of
Ajax sunning on the ridge pole and echoes from all of
them on adjoining and distant farms.

`` `Now I see the full meaning and beauty of that
word sound!' '' quoted the Harvester. `` `I thank God
for sound. It always mounts and makes me mount!' ''

He breathed deeply and stood listening, a superb
figure of a man, his lean face glowing with emotion.

``If she could see and hear this, she would come,''
he said softly. ``She would come and she would love
it as I do. Any one who understands, and knows how to
translate, cares for this above all else earth has to offer.
They who do not, fail to read as they run!''

He shifted feet mired in swamp muck, and stood as
if loath to bend again to his task. He lifted a weighted
mattock and scraped the earth from it, sniffing it delightedly
the while. A soft south wind freighted with aromatic
odours swept his warm face. The Harvester
removed his hat and shook his head that the breeze
might thread his thick hair.

``I've a commission for you, South Wind,'' he said
whimsically. ``Go find my Dream Girl. Go carry
her this message from me. Freight your breath with
spicy pollen, sun warmth, and flower nectar. Fill all
her senses with delight, and then, close to her ear,
whisper it softly, `Your lover is coming!'  Tell her that, O
South Wind! Carry Araby to her nostrils, Heaven to
her ears, and then whisper and whisper it over and over
until you arouse the passion of earth in her blood. Tell
her what is rioting in my heart, and brain, and soul this
morning. Repeat it until she must awake to its meaning,
`Your lover is coming.' ''

CHAPTER V

WHEN THE HARVESTER MADE GOOD

The sassafras and skunk cabbage were harvested.
The last workman was gone. There was not a
sound at Medicine Woods save the babel of bird
and animal notes and the never-ending accompaniment
of Singing Water. The geese had gone over, some flocks
pausing to rest and feed on Loon Lake, and ducks that
homed there were busy among the reeds and rushes. In
the deep woods the struggle to maintain and reproduce
life was at its height, and the courting songs of gaily
coloured birds were drowned by hawk screams and crow
calls of defiance.

Every night before he plunged into the lake and went
to sleep the Harvester made out a list of the most pressing
work that he would undertake on the coming day. By
systematizing and planning ahead he was able to accomplish
an unbelievable amount. The earliest rush of
spring drug gathering was over. He could be more
deliberate in collecting the barks he wanted. Flowers
that were to be gathered at bloom time and leaves were
not yet ready. The heavy leaf coverings he had helped
the winds to heap on his beds of lily of the valley,
bloodroot, and sarsaparilla were removed carefully.

Inside the cabin the Harvester cleaned the glass, swept
the floors with a soft cloth pinned over the broom, and
hung pale yellow blinds at the windows. Every spare minute
he worked on making furniture, and with each piece
he grew in experience and ventured on more difficult
undertakings. He had progressed so far that he now
allowed himself an hour each day on the candlesticks
for her. Every evening he opened her door and with soft
cloths polished the furniture he had made. When her
room was completed and the dining-room partially finished,
the Harvester took time to stain the cabin and
porch roofs the shade of the willow leaves, and on the logs
and pillars he used oil that served to intensify the light
yellow of the natural wood. With that much accomplished
he felt better. If she came now, in a few hours
he would be able to offer a comfortable room, enough
conveniences to live until more could be provided, and
of food there was always plenty.

His daily programme was to feed and water his animals
and poultry, prepare breakfast for himself and Belshazzar,
and go to the woods, dry-house or store-room
to do the work most needful in his harvesting. In the
afternoon he laboured over furniture and put finishing
touches on the new cabin, and after supper he carved and
found time to read again, as before his dream.

He was so happy he whistled and sang at his work much
of the time at first, but later there came days when doubts
crept in and all his will power was required to proceed
steadily. As the cabin grew in better shape for occupancy
each day, more pressing became the thought of how he
was going to find and meet the girl of his dream. Sometimes
it seemed to him that the proper way was to remain
at home and go on with his work, trusting her to come to
him. At such times he was happy and gaily whistled
and sang:

     ``Stay in your chimney corner,
          Don't roam the world about,
       Stay in your chimney corner,
          And your own true love will find you out.''

But there were other days while grubbing in the forest,
battling with roots in the muck and mire of the lake
bank, staggering under a load for two men, scarcely taking
time to eat and sleep enough to keep his condition
perfect, when that plan seemed too hopeless and senseless
to contemplate. Then he would think of locking
the cabin, leaving the drugs to grow undisturbed by
collecting, hiring a neighbour to care for his living
creatures, and starting a search over the world to find her.
There came times when the impulse to go was so strong
that only the desire to take a day more to decide where,
kept him. Every time his mind was made up to start
the following day came the counter thought, what if I
should go and she should come in my absence? In the
dream she came. That alone held him, even in the face
of the fact that if he left home some one might know of
and rifle the precious ginseng bed, carefully tended these
seven years for the culmination the coming fall would
bring. That ginseng was worth many thousands and he
had laboured over it, fighting worms and parasites, covering
and uncovering it with the changing seasons, a
siege of loving labour.

Sometimes a few hours of misgiving tortured him, but
as a rule he was cheerful and happy in his preparations.
Without intending to do it he was gradually furnishing
the cabin. Every few days saw a new piece finished in
the workshop. Each trip to Onabasha ended in the
purchase of some article he could see would harmonize
with his colour plans for one of the rooms. He had filled
the flower boxes for the veranda with delicate plants
that were growing luxuriantly.

Then he designed and began setting a wild-flower
garden outside her door and started climbing vines over
the logs and porches, but whatever he planted he found
in the woods or took from beds he cultivated. Many of
the medicinal vines had leaves, flowers, twining tendrils,
and berries or fruits of wonderful beauty. Every trip
to the forest he brought back a half dozen vines, plants,
or bushes to set for her. All of them either bore lovely
flowers, berries, quaint seed pods, or nuts, and beside
the drive and before the cabin he used especial care
to plant a hedge of bittersweet vines, burning bush,
and trees of mountain ash, so that the glory of their colour
would enliven the winter when days might be gloomy.

He planted wild yam under her windows that its queer
rattles might amuse her, and hop trees where their castanets
would play gay music with every passing wind of
fall. He started a thicket along the opposite bank of
Singing Water where it bubbled past her window, and in
it he placed in graduated rows every shrub and small tree
bearing bright flower, berry, or fruit. Those remaining
he used as a border for the driveway from the lake, so that
from earliest spring her eyes would fall on a procession of
colour beginning with catkins and papaw lilies, and running
through alders, haws, wild crabs, dogwood, plums,
and cherry intermingled with forest saplings and vines
bearing scarlet berries in fall and winter. In the damp soil
of the same character from which they were removed, in
the shade and under the skilful hand of the Harvester, few
of these knew they had been transplanted, and when May
brought the catbirds and orioles much of this growth was
flowering quite as luxuriantly as the same species in the
woods.

The Harvester was in the store-house packing boxes
for shipment. His room was so small and orders so
numerous that he could not keep large quantities on hand.
All crude stuff that he sent straight from the drying-house
was fresh and brightly coloured. His stock always was
marked prime A-No. 1. There was a step behind him and
the Harvester turned. A boy held out a telegram. The
man opened it to find an order for some stuff to be shipped
that day to a large laboratory in Toledo.

His hands deftly tied packages and he hastily packed
bottles and nailed boxes. Then he ran to harness Betsy

and load. As he drove down the hill to the bridge he
looked at his watch and shook his head.

``What are you good for at a pinch, Betsy?'' he asked
as he flecked the surprised mare's flank with a switch.
Belshazzar cocked his ears and gazed at the Harvester
in astonishment.

``That wasn't enough to hurt her,'' explained the man.
``She must speed up. This is important business. The
amount involved is not so much, but I do love to make
good. It's a part of my religion, Bel. And my religion
has so precious few parts that if I fail in the observance
of any of them it makes a big hole in my performances.
Now we don't want to end a life full of holes, so we must
get there with this stuff, not because it's worth the exertion
in dollars and cents, but because these men patronize
us steadily and expect us to fill orders, even by telegraph.
Hustle, Betsy!''

The whip fell again and Belshazzar entered indignant
protest.

``It isn't going to hurt her,'' said the Harvester
impatiently. ``She may walk all the way back. She can rest
while I get these boxes billed and loaded if she can be
persuaded to get them to the express office on time. The
trouble with Betsy is that she wants to meander along the
road with a loaded wagon as her mother and grandmother
before her wandered through the woods wearing a bell to
attract the deer. Father used to say that her mother
was the smartest bell mare that ever entered the forest.
She'd not only find the deer, but she'd make friends with
them and lead them straight as a bee-line to where he was
hiding. Betsy, you must travel!''

The Harvester drew the lines taut, and the whip fell
smartly. The astonished Betsy snorted and pranced down
the valley as fast as she could, but every step indicated
that she felt outraged and abused. This was the loveliest
day of the season. The sun was shining, the air was
heavy with the perfume of flowering shrubs and trees, the
orchards of the valley were white with bloom. Farmers
were hurrying back and forth across fields, leaving up
turned lines of black, swampy mould behind them, and
one progressive individual rode a wheeled plow, drove
three horses and enjoyed the shelter of a canopy.

``Saints preserve us, Belshazzar!'' cried the Harvester.
``Do you see that? He is one of the men who makes a
business of calling me shiftless. Now he thinks he is
working. Working! For a full-grown man, did you ever
see the equal? If I were going that far I'd wear a tucked
shirt, panama hat, have a pianola attachment, and an
automatic fan.''

The Harvester laughed as he again touched Betsy and
hurried to Onabasha. He scarcely saw the delights
offered on either hand, and where his eyes customarily
took in every sight, and his ears were tuned for the faintest
note of earth or tree top, to day he saw only Betsy and
listened for a whistle he dreaded to hear at the water tank.
He climbed the embankment of the railway at a slower
pace, but made up time going down hill to the city.

``I am not getting a blame thing out of this,'' he
complained to Belshazzar. ``There are riches to stagger
any scientist wasting to-day, and all I've got to show is one
oriole. I did hear his first note and see his flash, and so
unless we can take time to make up for this on the home
road we will have to christen it oriole day. It's a perfumed
golden day, too; I can get that in passing, but how
I loathe hurrying. I don't mind planning things and
working steadily, but it's not consistent with the dignity
of a sane man to go rushing across country with as much
appreciation of the delights offered right now as a chicken
with its head off would have. We will loaf going back to
pay for this! And won't we invite our souls? We will
stop and gather a big bouquet of crab apple blossoms to
fill the green pitcher for her. Maybe some of their
wonderful perfume will linger in her room. When the
petals fall we will scatter them in the drawers of her
dresser, and they may distil a faint flower odour there. We
could do that to all her furniture, but perhaps she doesn't
like perfume. She'll be compelled to after she reaches
Medicine Woods. Betsy, you must travel faster!''

The whip fell again and the Harvester stopped at the
depot with a few minutes to spare. He threw the hitching
strap to Belshazzar, and ran into the express office with
an arm load of boxes.

``Bill them!'' he cried. ``It's a rush order. I want it
to go on the next express. Almost due I think. I'll help
you and we can book them afterward.''

The expressman ran for a truck and they hastily
weighed and piled on boxes. When the last one was
loaded from the wagon, a heap more lying in the office
were added, pitched on indiscriminately as the train pulled
under the sheds of the Union Station.

``I'll push,'' cried the Harvester, ``and help you get
them on.''

Hurrying as fast as he could the expressman drew the
heavy truck through the iron gates and started toward
the train slowing to a stop, and the Harvester pushed.
As they came down the platform they passed the dining
and sleeping cars of the long train and were several times
delayed by descending passengers. Just opposite the
day coach the expressman narrowly missed running into
several women leading small children and stopped
abruptly. A toppling box threatened the head of the
Harvester. He peered around the truck and saw they
must wait a few seconds. He put in the time watching
the people. A gray-haired old man, travelling in a silk
hat, wavered on the top step and went his way. A fat
woman loaded with bundles puffed as she clung trembling
a second in fear she would miss the step she could not see.
A tall, slender girl with a face coldly white came next, and
from the broken shoe she advanced, the bewildered fright
of big, dark eyes glancing helplessly, the Harvester saw
that she was poor, alone, ill, and in trouble. Pityingly
he turned to watch her, and as he gauged her height,
saw her figure, and a dark coronet of hair came into view,
a ghastly pallor swept his face.

``Merciful God!'' he breathed, ``that's my Dream
Girl!''

The truck started with a jerk. The toppling box fell,
struck a passing boy, and knocked him down. The
mother screamed and the Harvester sprang to pick up the
child and see that he was not dangerously hurt. Then
he ran after the truck, pitched on the box, and whirling,
sped beside the train toward the gates of exit. There was
the usual crush, but he could see the tall figure passing up
the steps to the depot. He tried to force his way and was
called a brute by a crowded woman. He ran down the
platform to the gates he had entered with the truck.
They were automatic and had locked. Then he became a
primal creature being cheated of a lawful mate and
climbed the high iron fence and ran for the waiting room.

He swept it at a glance, not forgetting the women's
apartment and the side entrance. Then he hurried to the
front exit. Up the street leading from the city there were
few people and he could see no sign of the slight, white-
faced girl. He crossed the sidewalk and ran down the
gutter for a block and breathlessly waited the passing
crowd on the corner. She was not among it. He tried
one more square. Still he could not see her. Then he
ran back to the depot. He thought surely he must have
missed her. He again searched the woman's and general
waiting room and then he thought of the conductor.
From him it could be learned where she entered the car.
He ran for the station, bolted the gate while the official
called to him, and reached the track in time to see the
train pull out within a few yards of him.

``You blooming idiot!'' cried the angry expressman as
the Harvester ran against him, ``where did you go?
Why didn't you help me? You are white as a sheet!
Have you lost your senses?''

``Worse!'' groaned the Harvester. ``Worse! I've lost
what I prize most on earth. How could I reach the
conductor of that train?''

``Telegraph him at the next station. You can have an
answer in a half hour.''

The Harvester ran to the office, and with shaking hand
wrote this message:

``Where did a tall girl with big black eyes and wearing a
gray dress take your train? Important.''

Then he went out and minutely searched the depot and
streets. He hired an automobile to drive him over the
business part of Onabasha for three quarters of an hour.
Up one street and down another he went slowly where
there were crowds, faster as he could, but never a sight
of her. Then he returned to the depot and found his
message. It read, ``Transferred to me at Fort Wayne
from Chicago.''

``Chicago baggage!'' he cried, and hurried to the
check room. He had lost almost an hour. When he
reached the room he found the officials busy and unwilling
to be interrupted. Finally he learned there had been a
half dozen trunks from Chicago. All were taken save
two, and one glance at them told the Harvester that they
did not belong to the girl in gray. The others had been
claimed by men having checks for them. If she had been
there, the officials had not noticed a tall girl having a white
face and dark eyes. When he could think of no further
effort to make he drove to the hospital.

Doctor Carey was not in his office, and the Harvester
sat in the revolving chair before the desk and gripped his
head between his hands as he tried to think. He could
not remember anything more he could have done, but
since what he had done only ended in failure, he was
reproaching himself wildly that he had taken his eyes
from the Girl an instant after recognizing her. Yet it
was in his blood to be decent and he could not have run
away and left a frightened woman and a hurt child.
Trusting to his fleet feet and strength he had taken time
to replace the box also, and then had met the crowd and
delay. Just for the instant it appeared to him as if he
had done all a man could, and he had not found her. If
he allowed her to return to Chicago, probably he never
would. He leaned his head on his hands and groaned in
discouragement.

Doctor Carey whirled the chair so that it faced him
before the Harvester realized that he was not alone.

``What's the trouble, David?'' he asked tersely.

The Harvester lifted a strained face.

``I came for help,'' he said.

``Well you will get it! All you have to do is to state
what you want.''

That seemed simplicity itself to the doctor. But when
it came to putting his case into words, it was not easy for
the Harvester.

``Go on!'' said the doctor.

``You'll think me a fool.''

The doctor laughed heartily.

``No doubt!'' he said soothingly. ``No doubt, David!
Probably you are; so why shouldn't I think so. But
remember this, when we make the biggest fools of ourselves
that is precisely the time when we need friends,
and when they stick to us the tightest, if they are worth
while. I've been waiting since latter February for you
to tell me. We can fix it, of course; there's always a way.
Go on!''

``Well I wasn't fooling about the dream and the vision
I told you of then, Doc. I did have a dream--and it
was a dream of love. I did see a vision--and it was a
beautiful woman.''

``I hope you are not nursing that experience as
something exclusive and peculiar to you,'' said the doctor.
``There is not a normal, sane man living who has not
dreamed of love and the most exquisite woman who came
from the clouds or anywhere and was gracious to him.
That's a part of a man's experience in this world, and it
happens to most of us, not once, but repeatedly. It's a
case where the wish fathers the dream.''

``Well it hasn't happened to me `on repeated
occasions,' but it did one night, and by dawn I was converted.
How CAN a dream be so real, Doc? How could I see as
clearly as I ever saw in the daytime in my most alert
moment, hear every step and garment rustle, scent the
perfume of hair, and feel warm breath strike my face? I
don't understand it!''

``Neither does any one else! All you need say is that
your dream was real as life. Go on!''

``I built a new cabin and pretty well overturned the
place and I've been making furniture I thought a woman
would like, and carrying things from town ever since.''

``Gee! It was reality to you, lad!''

``Nothing ever more so,'' said the Harvester.

``And of course, you have been looking for her?''

``And this morning I saw her!''

``David!''

``Not the ghost of a chance for a mistake. Her height,
her eyes, her hair, her walk, her face; only something
terrible has happened since she came to me. It was the
same girl, but she is ill and in trouble now.''

``Where is she?''

``Do you suppose I'd be here if I knew?''

``David, are you dreaming in daytime?''

``She got off the Chicago train this morning while I was
helping Daniels load a big truck of express matter.
Some of it was mine, and it was important. Just at the
wrong instant a box fell and knocked down a child and
I got in a jam----''

``And as it was you, of course you stopped to pick up
the child and do everything decent for other folks, before
you thought of yourself, and so you lost her. You needn't
tell me anything more. David, if I find her, and prove
to you that she has been married ten years and has an
interesting family, will you thank me?''

``Can't be done!'' said the Harvester calmly. ``She
has been married only since she gave herself to me in
February, and she is not a mother. You needn't bank
on that.''

``You are mighty sure!''

``Why not? I told you the dream was real, and now
that I have seen her, and she is in this very town, why
shouldn't I be sure?''

``What have you done?''

The Harvester told him.

``What are you going to do next?''

``Talk it over with you and decide.''

The doctor laughed.

``Well here are a few things that occur to me without
time for thought. Talk to the ticket agents, and leave
her description with them. Make it worth their while to
be on the lookout, and if she goes anywhere to find out
all they can. They could make an excuse of putting her
address on her ticket envelope, and get it that way.
See the baggagemen. Post the day police on Main
Street. There is no chance for her to escape you. A
full-grown woman doesn't vanish. How did she act when
she got off the car? Did she appear familiar?''

``No. She was a stranger. For an instant she looked
around as if she expected some one, then she followed the
crowd. There must have been an automobile waiting
or she took a street car. Something whirled her out of
sight in a few seconds.''

``Well we will get her in range again. Now for the
most minute description you can give.''

The Harvester hesitated. He did not care to describe
the Dream Girl to any one, much less the living, suffering
face and poorly clad form of the reality.

``Cut out your scruples,'' laughed the doctor. ``You
have asked me to help you; how can I if I don't know what
kind of a woman to look for?''

``Very tall and slender,'' said the Harvester. ``Almost
as tall as I am.''

``Unusually tall you think?''

``I know!''

``That's a good point for identification. How about
her complexion, hair, and eyes?''

``Very large, dark eyes, and a great mass of black hair.''

The doctor roared.

``The eyes may help,'' he said. ``All women have
masses of hair these days. I hope----''

``Her hair is fast to her head,'' said the Harvester
indignantly. ``I saw it at close range, and I know. It
went around like a crown.''

The doctor choked down a laugh. He wanted to say
that every woman's hair was like a crown at present, but
there were things no man ventured with David Langston;
those who knew him best, least of any. So he suggested,
``And her colouring?''

``She was white and rosy, a lovely thing in the dream,''
said the Harvester, ``but something dreadful has
happened. That's all wiped out now. She was very pale
when she left the car.''

``Car sick, maybe.''

``Soul sick!'' was the grim reply.

Then Doctor Carey appeared so disturbed the Harvester
noticed it.

``You needn't think I'd be here prating about her if I
wasn't FORCED. If she had been rosy and well as she was
in the dream, I'd have made my hunt alone and found
her, too. But when I saw she was sick and in trouble, it
took all the courage out of me, and I broke for help. She
must be found at once, and when she is you are probably
the first man I'll want. I am going to put up a pretty
stiff search myself, and if I find her I'll send or get her to
you if I can. Put her in the best ward you have and
anything money will do----''

The face of the doctor was growing troubled.

``Day coach or Pullman?'' he asked.

``Day.''

``How was she dressed?''

``Small black hat, very plain. Gray jacket and skirt,
neat as a flower.''

``What you'd call expensively dressed?''

The Harvester hesitated.

``What I'd call carefully dressed, but----but poverty
poor, if you will have it, Doc.''

Doctor Carey's lips closed and then opened in sudden
resolution.

``David, I don't like it,'' he said tersely.

The Harvester met his eye and purposely misunderstood him.

``Neither do I!'' he exclaimed. ``I hate it! There is

something wrong with the whole world when a woman
having a face full of purity, intellect, and refinement of
extreme type glances around her like a hunted thing;
when her appearance seems to indicate that she has
starved her body to clothe it. I know what is in your
mind, Doc, but if I were you I wouldn't put it into words,
and I wouldn't even THINK it. Has it been your experience
in this world that women not fit to know skimp their
bodies to cover them? Does a girl of light character and
little brain have the hardihood to advance a foot covered
with a broken shoe? If I could tell you that she rode in a
Pullman, and wore exquisite clothing, you would be doing
something. The other side of the picture shuts you up
like a clam, and makes you appear shocked. Let me tell
you this: No other woman I ever saw anywhere on God's
footstool had a face of more delicate refinement, eyes of
purer intelligence. I am of the woods, and while they
don't teach me how to shine in society, they do instil
always and forever the fineness of nature and her ways.
I have her lessons so well learned they help me more than
anything else to discern the qualities of human nature.
If you are my friend, and have any faith at all in my
common sense, get up and do something!''

The doctor arose promptly.

``David, I'm an ass,'' he said. ``Unusually lop-eared,
and blind in the bargain. But before I ask you to forgive
me, I want you to remember two things: First, she
did not visit me in my dreams; and, second, I did not see
her in reality. I had nothing to judge from except what
you said: you seemed reluctant to tell me, and what you
did say was----was----disturbing to a friend of yours.
I have not the slightest doubt if I had seen her I would
agree with you. We seldom disagree, David. Now, will
you forgive me?''

The Harvester suddenly faced a window. When at
last he turned, ``The offence lies with me,'' he said. ``l
was hasty. Are you going to help me?''

``With all my heart! Go home and work until your
head clears, then come back in the morning. She did not
come from Chicago for a day. You've done all I know
to do at present.''

``Thank you,'' said the Harvester.

He went to Betsy and Belshazzar, and slowly drove up
and down the streets until Betsy protested and calmly
turned homeward. The Harvester smiled ruefully as he
allowed her to proceed.

``Go slow and take it easy,'' he said as they reached the
country. ``I want to think.''

Betsy stopped at the barn, the white doves took wing,
and Ajax screamed shrilly before the Harvester aroused
in the slightest to anything around him. Then he looked
at Belshazzar and said emphatically: ``Now, partner,
don't ever again interfere when I am complying with
the observances of my religion. Just look what I'd have
missed if I hadn't made good with that order!''

CHAPTER VI

TO LABOUR AND TO WAIT

We have reached the `beginning of the end,'
Ajax!'' said the Harvester, as the peacock
ceased screaming and came to seek food from
his hand. ``We have seen the Girl. Now we must
locate her and convince her that Medicine Woods is her
happy home. I feel quite equal to the latter proposition,
Ajax, but how the nation to find her sticks me.
I can't make a search so open that she will know and
resent it. She must have all the consideration ever
paid the most refined woman, but she also has got to
be found, and that speedily. When I remember that
look on her face, as if horrors were snatching at her
skirts, it takes all the grit out of me. I feel weak as a
sapling. And she needs all my strength. I've simply
got to brace up. I'll work a while and then perhaps
I can think.''

So the Harvester began the evening routine. He
thought he did not want anything to eat, but when he
opened the cupboard and smelled the food he learned
that he was a hungry man and he cooked and ate a
good supper. He put away everything carefully, for
even the kitchen was dainty and fresh and he wanted to
keep it so for her. When he finished he went into the
living-room, stood before the fireplace, and studied the
collection of half-finished candlesticks grouped upon it.
He picked up several and examined them closely, but
realized that he could not bind himself to the exactions
of carving that evening. He took a key from his pocket
and unlocked her door. Every day he had been going
there to improve upon his work for her, and he loved the
room, the outlook from its windows; he was very proud
of the furniture he had made. There was no paper-
thin covering on her chairs, bed, and dressing table.
The tops, seats, and posts were solid wood, worth hundreds
of dollars for veneer.

To-night he folded his arms and stood on the sill
hesitating. While she was a dream, he had loved to
linger in her room. Now that she was reality, he paused.
In one golden May day the place had become sacred.
Since he had seen the Girl that room was so hers that
he was hesitating about entering because of this fact.
It was as if the tall, slender form stood before the chest
of drawers or sat at the dressing table and he did not
dare enter unless he were welcome. Softly he closed
the door and went away. He wandered to the dry-
house and turned the bark and roots on the trays, but
the air stifled him and he hurried out. He tried to work
in the packing room, but walls smothered him and again
he sought the open.

He espied a bundle of osier-bound, moss-covered ferns
that he had found in the woods, and brought the shovel
to transplant them; but the work worried him, and he
hurried through with it. Then he looked for something
else to do and saw an ax. He caught it up and with
lusty strokes began swinging it. When he had chopped
wood until he was very tired he went to bed. Sleep
came to the strong, young frame and he awoke in the
morning refreshed and hopeful.

He wondered why he had bothered Doctor Carey.
The Harvester felt able that morning to find his Dream
Girl without assistance before the day was over. It
was merely a matter of going to the city and locating
a woman. Yesterday, it had been a question of whether
she really existed. To-day, he knew. Yesterday, it
had meant a search possibly as wide as earth to find her.
To-day, it was narrowed to only one location so small,
compared with Chicago, that the Harvester felt he could
sift its population with his fingers, and pick her from
others at his first attempt. If she were visiting there
probably she would rest during the night, and be on the
streets to-day.

When he remembered her face he doubted it. He
decided to spend part of the time on the business streets
and the remainder in the residence portions of the city.
Because it was uncertain when he would return, everything
was fed a double portion, and Betsy was left
at a livery stable with instructions to care for her until
he came. He did not know where the search would
lead him. For several hours he slowly walked the
business district and then ranged farther, but not a
sight of her. He never had known that Onabasha was
so large. On its crowded streets he did not feel that he
could sift the population through his fingers, nor could
he open doors and search houses without an excuse.

Some small boys passed him eating bananas, and the
Harvester looked at his watch and was amazed to find
that the day had advanced until two o'clock in the
afternoon. He was tired and hungry. He went into
a restaurant and ordered lunch; as he waited a girl
serving tables smiled at him. Any other time the
Harvester would have returned at least a pleasant
look, and gone his way. To-day he scowled at her, and
ate in hurried discomfort. On the streets again, he had
no idea where to go and so he went to the hospital.

``I expected you early this morning,'' was the greeting
of Doctor Carey. ``Where have you been and what
have you done?''

``Nothing,'' said the Harvester. ``I was so sure she
would be on the streets I just watched, but I didn't
see her.''

``We will go to the depot,'' said the doctor. ``The
first thing is to keep her from leaving town.''

They arranged with the ticket agents, expressmen,
telegraphers, and, as they left, the Harvester stopped
and tipped the train caller, offering further reward worth
while if he would find the Girl.

``Now we will go to the police station,'' said the doctor.

``I'll see the chief and have him issue a general order to
his men to watch for her, but if I were you I'd select
a half dozen in the down town district, and give them a
little tip with a big promise!''

``Good Lord! How I hate this,'' groaned the Harvester.

``Want to find her by yourself?'' questioned his friend.

``Yes,'' said the Harvester, ``I do! And I would, if
it hadn't been for her ghastly face. That drives me to
resort to any measures. The probabilities are that she
is lying sick somewhere, and if her comfort depends on
the purse that dressed her, she will suffer. Doc, do you
know how awful this is?''

``I know that you've got a great imagination. If the
woods make all men as sensitive as you are, those who
have business to transact should stay out of them.
Take a common-sense view. Look at this as I do. If
she was strong enough to travel in a day coach from
Chicago; she can't be so very ill to-day. Leaving life
by the inch isn't that easy. She will be alive this time
next year, whether you find her or not. The chances
are that her stress was mental anyway, and trouble
almost never overcomes any one.''

``You, a doctor and say that!''

``Oh, I mean instantaneously----in a day! Of course
if it grinds away for years! But youth doesn't allow it
to do that. It throws it off, and grows hopeful and happy
again. She won't die; put that out of your mind. If
I were you I would go home now and go straight on with
my work, trusting to. the machinery you have set in
motion. I know most of the men with whom we have
talked. They will locate her in a week or less. It's
their business. It isn't yours. It's your job to be ready
for her, and have enough ahead to support her when
they find her. Try to realize that there are now a dozen
men on hunt for her, and trust them. Go back to your
work, and I will come full speed in the motor when the
first man sights her. That ought to satisfy you. I've
told all of them to call me at the hospital, and I will tell
my assistant what to do in case a call comes while I
am away. Straighten your face! Go back to Medicine
Woods and harvest your crops, and before you know it
she will be located. Then you can put on your Sunday
clothes and show yourself, and see if you can make her
take notice.''

``Idiot!'' exclaimed the Harvester, but he started home.
When he arrived he attended to his work and then sat
down to think.

``Doc is right,'' was his ultimate conclusion. ``She
can't leave the city, she can't move around in it, she
can't go anywhere, without being seen. There's one
more point: I must tell Carey to post all the doctors
to report if they have such a call. That's all I can
think of. I'll go to-night, and then I'll look over the
ginseng for parasites, and to-morrow I'll dive into the
late spring growth and work until I haven't time to think.
I've let cranesbill get a week past me now, and it can't
be dispensed with.''

So the following morning, when the Harvester had
completed his work at the cabin and barn and breakfasted,
he took a mattock and a big hempen bag, and followed
the path to the top of the hill. As it ran along the lake
bank he descended on the other side to several acres of
cleared land, where he raised corn for his stock, potatoes,
and coarser garden truck, for which there was not
space in the smaller enclosure close the cabin. Around
the edges of these fields, and where one of them sloped
toward the lake, he began grubbing a variety of grass
having tall stems already over a foot in height at half
growth. From each stem waved four or five leaves of
six or eight inches length and the top showed forming
clusters of tiny spikelets.

``I am none too early for you,'' he muttered to himself
as he ran the mattock through the rich earth, lifting
the long, tough, jointed root stalks of pale yellow, from
every section of which broke sprays of fine rootlets.
``None too early for you, and as you are worth only
seven cents a pound, you couldn't be considered a `get-
rich-quick' expedient, so I'll only stop long enough with
you to gather what I think my customers will order,
and amass a fortune a little later picking mullein flowers
at seventy-five cents a pound. What a crop I've got
coming!''

The Harvester glanced ahead, where in the cleared soil
of the bank grew large plants with leaves like yellow-green
felt and tall bloom stems rising. Close them flourished
other species requiring dry sandy soil, that gradually
changed as it approached the water until it became
covered with rank abundance of short, wiry grass, half
the blades of which appeared red. Numerous everywhere
he could see the grayish-white leaves of Parnassus
grass. As the season advanced it would lift heart-
shaped velvet higher, and before fall the stretch of emerald
would be starred with white-faced, green-striped flowers.

``Not a prettier sight on earth,'' commented the
Harvester, ``than just swale wire grass in September
making a fine, thick background to set off those delicate
starry flowers on their slender stems. I must remember
to bring her to see that.''

His eyes followed the growth to the water. As the
grass drew closer moisture it changed to the rank, sweet,
swamp variety, then came bulrushes, cat-tails, water
smartweed, docks, and in the water blue flag lifted
folded buds; at its feet arose yellow lily leaves and farther
out spread the white. As the light struck the surface
the Harvester imagined he could see the little green
buds several inches below. Above all arose wild rice
he had planted for the birds. The red wings swayed on
the willows and tilted on every stem that would bear
their weight, singing their melodious half-chanted notes,
``O-ka-lee!''

Beneath them the ducks gobbled, splashed, and chattered;
grebe and coot voices could be distinguished;
king rails at times flashed into sight and out again;
marsh wrens scolded and chattered; occasionally a kingfisher
darted around the lake shore, rolling his rattling
cry and flashing his azure coat and gleaming white
collar. On a hollow tree in the woods a yellow
hammer proved why he was named, because he carpentered
industriously to enlarge the entrance to the home he
was excavating in a dead tree; and sailing over the
lake and above the woods in grace scarcely surpassed
by any, a lonesome turkey buzzard awaited his mate's
decision as to which hollow log was most suitable for
their home.

The Harvester stuffed the grass roots in the bag until
it would hold no more and stood erect to wipe his face,
for the sun was growing warm. As he drew his handkerchief
across his brow, the south wind struck him with
enough intensity to attract attention. Instantly the
Harvester removed his hat, rolled it up, and put it into
his pocket. He stood an instant delighting in the wind
and then spoke.

``Allow me to express my most fervent thanks for
your kindness,'' he said. ``I thought probably you
would take that message, since it couldn't mean much
to you, and it meant all the world to me. I thought
you would carry it, but, I confess, I scarcely expected
the answer so soon. The only thing that could make me
more grateful to you would be to know exactly where
she is: but you must understand that it's like a peep
into Heaven to have her existence narrowed to one
place. I'm bound to be able to say inside a few days,
she lives at number----I don't know yet, on street----
I'll find out soon, in the closest city, Onabasha. And
I know why you brought her, South Wind. If ever a
girl's cheeks need fanning with your breezes, and painting
with sun kisses, I wouldn't mind, since this is strictly
private, adding a few of mine; if ever any one needed
flowers, birds, fresh air, water, and rest! Good Lord,
South Wind, did you ever reach her before you carried
that message? I think not! But Onabasha isn't so
large. You and the sun should get your innings there.
I do hope she is not trying to work! I can attend to
that; and so there will be more time when she is found,
I'd better hustle now.''

He picked up the bag and returned to the dry-house,
where he carefully washed the roots and spread them
on the trays. Then he took the same bag and mattock
and going through the woods in the opposite direction
he came to a heavy growth in a cleared space of high
ground. The bloom heads were forming and the plant
was half matured. The Harvester dug a cylindrical,
tapering root, wrinkling lengthwise, wiped it clean,
broke and tasted it. He made a wry face. He stood
examining the white wood with its brown-red bark and,
deciding that it was in prime condition, be began digging
the plants. It was common wayside ``Bouncing Bet,''
but the Harvester called it ``soapwort.''  He took every
other plant in his way across the bed, and when he
digged a heavy load he carried it home, stripped the
leaves, and spread them on trays, while the roots he
topped, washed, and put to dry also. Then he whistled
for Belshazzar and went to lunch.

As he passed down the road to the cabin his face was
a study of conflicting emotions, and his eyes had a far
away appearance of deep thought. Every tree of his
stretch of forest was rustling fresh leaves to shelter him;
dogwood, wild crab, and hawthorn offered their flowers;
earth held up her tribute in painted trillium faces, spring
beauties, and violets, blue, white, and yellow. Mosses,
ferns, and lichen decorated the path; all the birds
greeted him in friendship, and sang their purest melodies.
The sky was blue, the sun bright, the air perfumed
for him; Belshazzar, always true to his name, protected
every footstep; Ajax, the shimmering green and gold
wonder, came up the hill to meet him; the white doves
circled above his head. Stumbling half blindly, the
Harvester passed unheeding among them, and went
into the cabin. When he came out he stood a long
time in deep study, but at last he returned to the
woods.

``Perhaps they will have found her before night,'' he
said. ``I'll harvest the cranesbill yet, because it's growing
late for it, and then I'll see how they are coming on.
Maybe they'd know her if they met her, and maybe
they wouldn't. She may wear different clothing, and
freshen up after her trip. She might have been car sick,
as Doc suggested, and appear very different when she
feels better.''

He skirted the woods around the northeast end and
stopped at a big bed of exquisite growth. Tall, wiry
stems sprang upward almost two feet in height; leaves
six inches across were cut in ragged lobes almost to the
base, and here and there, enough to colour the entire
bed a delicate rose or sometimes a violet purple, the
first flowers were unfolding. The Harvester lifted a
root and tasted it.

``No doubt about you being astringent,'' he muttered.
``You have enough tannin in you to pucker a mushroom.
By the way, those big, corn-cobby fellows should spring
up with the next warm rain, and the hotels and restaurants
always pay high prices. I must gather a few
bushels.''

He looked over the bed of beautiful wild alum and
hesitated.

``I vow I hate to touch you,'' he said. ``You are a
picture right now, and in a week you will be a miracle.
It seems a shame to tear up a plant for its roots, just at
flowering time, and I can't avoid breaking down half I
don't take, getting the ones I do. I wish you were not
so pretty! You are one of the colours I love most.
You remind me of red-bud, blazing star, and all those
exquisite magenta shades that poets, painters, and the
Almighty who made them love so much they hesitate
about using them lavishly. You are so delicate and
graceful and so modest. I wish she could see you!
I got to stop this or I won't be able to lift a root. I
never would if the ten cents a pound I'll get out of it
were the only consideration.''

The Harvester gripped the mattock and advanced
to the bed. ``What I must be thinking is that you are
indispensable to the sick folks. The steady demand for
you proves your value, and of course, humanity comes
first, after all. If I remain in the woods alone much
longer I'll get to the place where I'm not so sure that
it does. Seems as if animals, birds, flowers, trees, and
insects as well, have their right to life also. But it's
for me to remember the sick folks! If I thought the
Girl would get some of it now, I could overturn the bed
with a stout heart. If any one ever needed a tonic, I
think she does. Maybe some of this will reach her. If
it does, I hope it will make her cheeks just the lovely
pink of the bloom. Oh Lord! If only she hadn't
appeared so sick and frightened! What is there in all
this world of sunshine to make a girl glance around her
like that? I wish I knew! Maybe they will have
found her by night.''

The Harvester began work on the bed, but he knelt
and among the damp leaves from the spongy black
earth he lifted the roots with his fingers and carefully
straightened and pressed down the plants he did not
take. This required more time than usual, but his
heart was so sore he could not be rough with anything,
most of all a flower. So he harvested the wild alum
by hand, and heaped large stacks of roots around the
edges of the bed. Often he paused as he worked and
on his knees stared through the forest as if he hoped
perhaps she would realize his longing for her, and come
to him in the wood as she had across the water.
Over and over he repeated, ``Perhaps they will find
her by night!'' and that so intensified the meaning
that once he said it aloud. His face clouded and grew
dark.

``Dealish nice business!'' he said. ``I am here in the
woods digging flower roots, and a gang of men in the
city are searching for the girl I love. If ever a job seemed
peculiarly a man's own, it appears this would be. What
business has any other man spying after my woman?
Why am I not down there doing my own work, as I
always have done it? Who's more likely to find her
than I am? It seems as if there would be an instinct
that would lead me straight to her, if I'd go. And you
can wager I'll go fast enough.''

The Harvester appeared as if he would start that
instant, but with lips closely shut he finally forced
himself to go on with his work. When he had rifled the bed,
and uprooted all he cared to take during one season,
he carried the roots to the lake shore below the curing
house, and spread them on a platform he had built.
He stepped into his boat and began dashing pails of water
over them and using a brush. As he worked he washed
away the woody scars of last year's growth, and the tiny
buds appearing for the coming season.

Belshazzar sat on the opposite bank and watched
the operation; and Ajax came down and, flying to a
dead stump, erected and slowly waved his train to attract
the sober-faced man who paid no heed. He left the
roots to drain while he prepared supper, then placed
them on the trays, now filled to overflowing, and was
glad he had finished. He could not cure anything else
at present if he wanted to. He was as far advanced as
he had been at the same time the previous year. Then
he dressed neatly and locking the Girl's room, and leaving
Belshazzar to protect it, he went to Onabasha.

``Bravo!'' cried Doctor Carey as the Harvester
entered his office. ``You are heroic to wait all day for
news. How much stuff have you gathered?''

``Three crops. How many missing women have you
located?''

The doctor laughed. There was no sign of a smile
on the face of the Harvester.

``You didn't really expect her to come to light the
first day? That would be too easy! We can't find her
in a minute.''

``It will be no surprise to me if you can't find her at
all. I am not expecting another man to do what I don't
myself.''

``You are not hunting her. You are harvesting the
woods. The men you employ are to find her.''

``Maybe I am, and maybe I am not,'' said the Harvester
slowly. ``To me it appears to be a poor stick of a man
who coolly proceeds with money making, and trusts to
men who haven't even seen her to search for the girl
he loves. I think a few hours of this is about all my
patience will endure.''

``What are you going to do?''

``I don't know,'' said the Harvester. ``But you can
bank on one thing sure----I'm going to do something!
I've had my fill of this. Thank you for all you've done,
and all you are going to do. My head is not clear enough
yet to decide anything with any sense, but maybe I'll
hit on something soon. I'm for the streets for a while.''

``Better go home and go to bed. You seem very
tired.''

``I am,'' said the Harvester. ``The only way to
endure this is to work myself down. I'm all right, and
I'll be careful, but I rather think I'll find her myself.''

``Better go on with your work as we planned.''

``I'll think about it,'' said the Harvester as he went
out.

Until he was too tired to walk farther he slowly paced
the streets of the city, and then followed the home road
through the valley and up the hill to Medicine Woods.
When he came to Singing Water, Belshazzar heard his
steps on the bridge, and came bounding to meet him. The
Harvester stretched himself on a seat and turned his
face to the sky. It was a deep, dark-blue bowl, closely
set with stars, and a bright moon shed a soft May radiance
on the young earth. The lake was flooded with light,
and the big trees of the forest crowning the hill were
silver coroneted. The unfolding leaves had hidden the
new cabin from the bridge, but the driveway shone white,
and already the upspringing bushes hedged it in. Insects
were humming lazily in the perfumed night air,
and across the lake a courting whip-poor-will was
explaining to his sweetheart just how much and why he
loved her. A few bats were wavering in air hunting
insects, and occasionally an owl or a nighthawk crossed
the lake. Killdeer were glorying in the moonlight and
night flight, and cried in pure, clear notes as they sailed
over the water. The Harvester was tired and filled
with unrest as he stretched on the bridge, but the longer
he lay the more the enfolding voices comforted him.
All of them were waiting and working out their lives
to the legitimate end; there was nothing else for him to
do. He need not follow instinct or profit by chance.
He was a man; he could plan and reason.

The air grew balmy and some big, soft clouds swept
across the moon. The Harvester felt the dampness
of rising dew, and went to the cabin. He looked at
it long in the moonlight and told himself that he could
see how much the plants, vines, and ferns had grown
since the previous night. Without making a light, he
threw himself on the bed in the outdoor room, and lay
looking through the screening at the lake and sky. He
was working his brain to think of some manner in which
to start a search for the Dream Girl that would have
some probability of success to recommend it, but he
could settle on no feasible plan. At last he fell asleep,
and in the night soft rain wet his face. He pulled an
oilcloth sheet over the bed, and lay breathing deeply of
the damp, perfumed air as he again slept. In the morning
brilliant sunshine awoke him and he arose to find the
earth steaming.

``If ever there was a perfect mushroom day!'' he said
to Belshazzar. ``We must hurry and feed the stock and
ourselves and gather some. They mean real money.''

CHAPTER VII

THE QUEST OF THE DREAM GIRL

The Harvester breakfasted, fed the stock, hitched
Betsy to the spring wagon, and went into the
dripping, steamy woods. If anyone had asked
him that morning concerning his idea of Heaven, he
never would have dreamed of describing a place of gold-
paved streets, crystal pillars, jewelled gates, and thrones
of ivory. These things were beyond the man's comprehension
and he would not have admired or felt at home
in such magnificence if it had been materialized for him.
He would have told you that a floor of last year's brown
leaves, studded with myriad flower faces, big, bark-
encased pillars of a thousand years, jewels on every
bush, shrub, and tree, and tilting thrones on which
gaudy birds almost burst themselves to voice the joy
of life, while their bright-eyed little mates peered
questioningly at him over nest rims----he would have told you
that Medicine Woods on a damp, sunny May morning
was Heaven. And he would have added that only
one angel, tall and slender, with the pink of health
on her cheeks and the dew of happiness in her dark
eyes, was necessary to enter and establish glory.
Everything spoke to him that morning, but the Harvester
was silent. It had been his habit to talk constantly
to Belshazzar, Ajax, his work, even the winds and perfumes;
it had been his method of dissipating solitude,
but to-day he had no words, even for these dear friends.
He only opened his soul to beauty, and steadily climbed
the hill to the crest, and then down the other side to the
rich, half-shaded, half-open spaces, where big, rough
mushrooms sprang in a night similar to the one just
passed.

He could see them awaiting him from afar. He began
work with rapid fingers, being careful to break off the
heads, but not to pull up the roots. When four heaping
baskets were filled he cut heavily leaved branches to
spread over them, and started to Onabasha. As usual,
Belshazzar rode beside him and questioned the Harvester
when he politely suggested to Betsy that she
make a little haste.

``Have you forgotten that mushrooms are perishable?''
he asked. ``If we don't get these to the city all woodsy
and fresh we can't sell them. Wonder where we can
do the best? The hotels pay well. Really, the biggest
prices could be had by----''

Then the Harvester threw back his head and began
to laugh, and he laughed, and he laughed. A crow on
the fence Joined him, and a kingfisher, heading for Loon
Lake, and then Belshazzar caught the infection.

``Begorry! The very idea!'' cried the Harvester.
`` `Heaven helps them that help themselves.'  Now you
just watch us manoeuvre for assistance, Belshazzar, old
boy! Here we go!''

Then the laugh began again. It continued all the
way to Onabasha and even into the city. The Harvester
drove through the most prosperous street until he reached
the residence district. At the first home he stopped,
gave the lines to Belshazzar, and, taking a basket of
mushrooms, went up the walk and rang the bell.

``All groceries should be delivered at the back door,''
snapped a pert maid, before he had time to say a word.

The Harvester lifted his hat.

``Will you kindly tell the lady of the house that I
wish to speak with her?''

``What name, please?''

``I want to show her some fine mushrooms, freshly
gathered,'' he answered.

How she did it the Harvester never knew. The
first thing he realized was that the door had closed
before his face, and the basket had been picked deftly
from his fingers and was on the other side. After a
short time the maid returned.

``What do you want for them, please?''

The last thing on earth the Harvester wanted to do
was to part with those mushrooms, so he took one long,
speculative look down the hall and named a price he
thought would be prohibitive.

``One dollar a dozen.''

``How many are there?''

``I count them as I sell them. I do not know.''

The door closed again. Presently it opened and the
maid knelt on the floor before him and counted the
mushrooms one by one into a dish pan and in a few minutes
brought back seven dollars and fifty cents. The
chagrined Harvester, feeling like a thief, put the money
in his pocket, and turned away.

``I was to tell you,'' said she, ``that you are to bring
all you have to sell here, and the next time please go
to the kitchen door.''

``Must be fond of mushrooms,'' said the disgruntled
Harvester.

``They are a great delicacy, and there are visitors.''
The Harvester ached to set the girl to one side and
walk through the house, but he did not dare; so he
returned to the street, whistled to Betsy to come, and went
to the next gate. Here he hesitated. Should he risk
further snubbing at the front door or go back at once.
If he did, he only would see a maid. As he stood an
instant debating, the door of the house he just had
left opened and the girl ran after him. ``If you have
more, we will take them,'' she called.

The Harvester gasped for breath.

``They have to be used at once,'' he suggested.

``She knows that. She wants to treat her friends.''

``Well she has got enough for a banquet,'' he said.
``I--I don't usually sell more than a dozen or two in
one place.''

``I don't see why you can't let her have them if you
have more.''

``Perhaps I have orders to fill for regular customers,''
suggested the Harvester.

``And perhaps you haven't,'' said the maid. ``You
ought to be ashamed not to let people who are willing
to pay your outrageous prices have them. It's regular
highway robbery.''

``Possibly that's the reason I decline to hold up one
party twice,'' said the Harvester as he entered the gate
and went up the walk to the front door.

``You should be taught your place,'' called the maid
after him.

The Harvester again rang the bell. Another maid
opened the door, and once more he asked to speak with
the lady of the house. As the girl turned, a handsome
old woman in cap and morning gown came down the
stairs.

``What have you there?'' she asked.

The Harvester lifted the leaves and exposed the
musky, crimpled, big mushrooms.

``Oh!'' she cried in delight. ``Indeed, yes! We are
very fond of them. I will take the basket, and divide
with my sons. You are sure you have no poisonous
ones among them?''

``Quite sure,'' said the Harvester faintly.

``How much do you want for the basket?''

``They are a dollar a dozen; I haven't counted them.''

``Dear me! Isn't that rather expensive?''

``It is. Very!'' said the Harvester. ``So expensive
that most people don't think of taking over a dozen.
They are large and very rich, so they go a long
way.''

``I suppose you have to spend a great deal of time
hunting them? It does seem expensive, but they are
fresh, and the boys are so fond of them. I'm not often
extravagant, I'll just take the lot. Sarah, bring a pan.''

Again the Harvester stood and watched an entire
basket counted over and carried away, and he felt the
robber he had been called as he took the money.

At the next house he had learned a lesson. He carpeted
a basket with leaves and counted out a dozen and a
half into it, leaving the remainder in the wagon. Three
blocks on one side of the street exhausted his store and
he was showered with orders. He had not seen any
one that even resembled a dark-eyed girl. As he came
from the last house a big, red motor shot past and then
suddenly slowed and backed beside his wagon.

``What in the name of sense are you doing?'' demanded
Doctor Carey.

``Invading the residence district of Onabasha,'' said
the Harvester. ``Madam, would you like some nice,
fresh, country mushrooms? I guarantee that there are
no poisonous ones among them, and they were gathered
this morning. Considering their rarity and the difficult
work of collecting, they are exceedingly low at my price.
I am offering these for five dollars a dozen, madam,
and for mercy sake don't take them or I'll have no excuse
to go to the next house.''

The doctor stared, then understood, and began to
laugh. When at last he could speak he said, ``David,
I'll bet you started with three bushels and began at the
head of this street, and they are all gone.''

``Put up a good one!'' said the Harvester. ``You
win. The first house I tried they ordered me to the
back door, took a market basket full away from me
by force, tried to buy the load, and I didn't see any
one save a maid.''

The doctor lay on the steering gear and faintly groaned.

The Harvester regarded him sympathetically. ``Isn't
it a crime?'' he questioned. ``Mushrooms are no go.
I can see that!----or rather they are entirely too much
of a go. I never saw anything in such demand. I
must seek a less popular article for my purpose. To-
morrow look out for me. I shall begin where I left off
to-day, but I will have changed my product.''

``David, for pity sake,'' peeped the doctor.

``What do I care how I do it, so I locate her?''
superbly inquired the Harvester.

``But you won't find her!'' gasped the doctor.

``I've come as close it as you so far, anyway,'' said
the Harvester. ``Your mushrooms are on the desk in
your office.''

He drove slowly up and down the streets until Betsy
wabbled on her legs. Then he left her to rest and walked
until he wabbled; and by that time it was dark, so he
went home.

At the first hint of dawn he was at work the following
morning. With loaded baskets closely covered, he

started to Onabasha, and began where he had quit the
day before. This time he carried a small, crudely
fashioned bark basket, leaf-covered, and he rang at the
front door with confidence.

Every one seemed to have a maid in that part of the
city, for a freshly capped and aproned girl opened the
door.

``Are there any young women living here?'' blandly
inquired the Harvester.

``What's that of your business?'' demanded the
maid.

The Harvester flushed, but continued, ``I am offering
something especially intended for young women. If
there are none, I will not trouble you.''

``There are several.''

``Will you please ask them if they would care for
bouquets of violets, fresh from the woods?''

``How much are they, and how large are the bunches?''

``Prices differ, and they are the right size to appear
well. They had better see for themselves.''

The maid reached for the basket, but the Harvester
drew back.

``I keep them in my possession,'' he said. ``You may
take a sample.''

He lifted the leaves and drew forth a medium-sized
bunch of long-stemmed blue violets with their leaves.
The flowers were fresh, crisp, and strong odours of the
woods arose from them.

``Oh!'' cried the maid. ``Oh, how lovely!''

She hurried away with them and returned carrying
a purse.

``I want two more bunches,'' she said. ``How much
are they?''

``Are the girls who want them dark or fair?''

``What difference does that make?''

``I have blue violets for blondes, yellow for brunettes,
and white for the others.''

``Well I never! One is fair, and two have brown hair
and blue eyes.''

``One blue and two whites,'' said the Harvester calmly,
as if matching women's hair and eyes with flowers were
an inherited vocation. ``They are twenty cents a
bunch.''

``Aha!'' he chortled to himself as he whistled to Betsy.
``At last we have it. There are no dark-eyed girls here.
Now we are making headway.''

Down the street he went, with varying fortune, but
with patience and persistence at every house he at last
managed to learn whether there was a dark-eyed girl.
There did not seem to be many. Long before his store
of yellow violets was gone the last blue and white had
disappeared. But he calmly went on asking for dark-
eyed girls, and explaining that all the blue and white
were taken, because fair women were most numerous.

At one house the owner, who reminded the Harvester
of his mother, came to the door. He uncovered and in
his suavest tones inquired if a brunette young woman lived
there and if she would like a nosegay of yellow violets.

``Well bless my soul!'' cried she. ``What is this
world coming to? Do you mean to tell me that there
are now able-bodied men offering at our doors, flowers
to match our girls' complexions?''

``Yes madam?'' said the Harvester gravely, ``and
also selling them as fast as he can show them, at prices
that make a profit very well worth while. I had an
equal number of blue and white, but I see the dark
girls are very much in the minority. The others were
gone long ago, and I now have flowers to offer brunettes
only.''

``Well forever more! And you don't call that fiddlin'
business for a big, healthy, young man?''

The Harvester's gay laugh was infectious.

``I do not,'' he said. ``I have to start as soon as I
can see, tramp long distances in wet woods and gather
the violets on my knees, make them into bunches, and
bring them here in water to keep them fresh. I have
another occupation. I only kill time on these, but I would
be ashamed to tell you what I have gotten for them this
morning.''

``Humph! I'm glad to hear it!'' said the woman.
``Shame in some form is a sign of grace. I have no use
for a human being without a generous supply of it.
There is a very beautiful dark-eyed girl in the house,
and I will take two bunches for her. How much are
they?''

``I have only three remaining,'' said the Harvester.
``Would you like to allow her to make her own selection?''

``When I'm giving things I usually take my choice. I
want that, and that one.''

``As my stock is so nearly out, I'll make the two for
twenty,'' said the Harvester. ``Won't you accept the
last one from me, because you remind me just a little
of my mother?''

``I will indeed,'' said she. ``Thank you very much!
I shall love to have them as dearly as any of the girls.
I used to gather them when I was a child, but I almost
never see the blue ones any more, and I don't know as
I ever expected to see a yellow violet again as long as I
live. Where did you get them?''

``In my woods,'' said the Harvester. ``You see I
grow several members of the viola pedata family, bird's
foot, snake, and wood violet, and three of the odorata,
English, marsh, and sweet, for our big drug houses.
They use the flowers in making delicate tests for acids
and alkalies. The entire plant, flower, seed, leaf, and
root, goes into different remedies. The beds seed
themselves and spread, so I have more than I need for the
chemists, and I sell a few. I don't use the white and
yellow in my business; I just grow them for their beauty.
I also sell my surplus lilies of the valley. Would you
like to order some of them for your house or more
violets for to-morrow?''

``Well bless my soul! Do you mean to tell me that
lilies of the valley are medicine?''

The Harvester laughed.

``I grow immense beds of them in the woods on the
banks of Loon Lake,'' he said. ``They are the convallaris
majallis of the drug houses and I scarcely know what
the weak-hearted people would do without them. I
use large quantities in trade, and this season I am selling
a few because people so love them.''

``Lilies in medicine; well dear me! Are roses good
for our innards too?''

Then the Harvester did laugh.

``I imagine the roses you know go into perfumes
mostly,'' he answered. ``They do make medicine of
Canadian rock rose and rose bay, laurel, and willow.
I grow the bushes, but they are not what you would
consider roses.''

``I wonder now,'' said the woman studying the
Harvester closely, ``if you are not that queer genius I've
heard of, who spends his time hunting and growing
stuff in the woods and people call him the Medicine
Man.''

``I strongly suspect madam, I am that man,'' said
the Harvester.

``Well bless me!'' cried she. ``I've always wanted to
see you and here when I do, you look just like anybody
else. I thought you'd have long hair, and be wild-
eyed and ferocious. And your talk sounds like out of
a book. Well that beats me!''

``Me too!'' said the Harvester, lifting his hat. ``You
don't want any lilies to-morrow, then?''

``Yes I do. Medicine or no medicine, I've always
liked 'em, and I'm going to keep on liking them. If
you can bring me a good-sized bunch after the weak-
kneed----''

``Weak-hearted,'' corrected the Harvester.

``Well `weak-hearted,' then; it's all the same thing.
If you've got any left, as I was saying, you can fetch
them to me for the smell.''

The Harvester laughed all the way down town. There
he went to Doctor Carey's office, examined a directory,
and got the names of all the numbers where be had sold
yellow violets. A few questions when the doctor came
in settled all of them, but the flower scheme was
better. Because the yellow were not so plentiful as the
white and blue, next day he added buttercups and cowslips
to his store for the dark girls. When he had rifled
his beds for the last time, after three weeks of almost
daily trips to town, and had paid high prices to small
boys he set searching the adjoining woods until no more
flowers could be found, he drove from the outskirts of
the city one day toward the hospital, and as he stopped,
down the street came Doctor Carey frantically waving
to him. As the big car slackened, ``Come on David,
quick! I've seen her!'' cried the doctor.

The Harvester jumped from the wagon, threw the
lines to Belshazzar, and landed in the panting car.

``For Heaven's sake where? Are you sure?''

The car went speeding down the street. A policeman
beckoned and cried after it.

``It won't do any good to get arrested, Doc,'' cautioned
the Harvester.

``Now right along here,'' panted Doctor Carey. ``Watch
both sides sharply. If I stop you jump out, and tell the
blame policemen to get at their job. The party they
are hired to find is right under their noses.''

The Harvester began to perspire. ``Doc, don't you
think you should tell me? Maybe she is in some store.
Maybe I could do better on foot.''

``Shut up!'' growled the doctor. ``I am doing the
best I know.''

He hurried up the street for blocks and back again,
and at last stopped before a large store and went in.
When he returned he drove to the hospital and together
they entered the office. There he turned to the
Harvester.

``It isn't so hard to understand you now, my boy,''
he said. ``Shades of Diana, but she'll be a beauty when
she gets a little more flesh and colour. She came out
of Whitlaw's and walked right to the crossing. I almost
could have touched her, but I didn't notice. Two girls
passed before me, and in hurrying, a tall, dark one knocked
off one of your bunches of yellow violets. She glanced
at it and laughed, but let it lay. Then your girl hesitated
stooped and picked it up. The crazy policeman yelled
at me to clear the crossing and it didn't hit me for a
half block how tall and white she was and how dark
her eyes were. I was just thinking about her picking
up the flowers, and that it was queer for her to do it,
when like a brick it hit me, THAT'S DAVID'S GIRL! I tried
to turn around, but you know what Main Street is in
the middle of the day. And those idiots of policemen!
They ordered me on, and I couldn't turn for a street car
coming, so I called to one of them that the girl we wanted
was down the street, and he looked at me like an addle-
pate and said, `What girl? Move on or you'll get
in a jam here.'  You can use me for a football if I
don't go back and smash him. Paid him five dollars
myself less than two weeks ago to keep his eyes open.
`TO KEEP HIS EYES OPEN!' '' panted the doctor, shaking
his fist at David. ``Yes sir! `To keep his eyes open!'
And he motioned for things to come along, and so I
lost her too.''

``I think we had better go back to the street,'' said
the Harvester.

``Oh, I'd been back and forth along that street for
nearly an hour before I gave up and came here to see
if I could find you, and we've hunted it an hour more!
What's the use? She's gone for this time, but by gum,
I saw her! And she was worth seeing!''

``Did she appear ill to you?''

The doctor dropped on a chair and threw out his hands
hopelessly.

``This was awful sudden, David,'' he said. ``I was
going along as I told you, and I noticed her stop and
thought she had a good head to wait a second instead
of running in before me, and there came those two girls
right under the car from the other side. I only had
a glimpse of her as she stooped for the flowers. I saw
a big braid of hair, but I was half a block away before
I got it all connected, and then came the crush in the
street, and I was blocked.''

The doctor broke down and wiped his face and
expressed his feelings unrestrainedly.

``Don't!'' said the Harvester patiently. ``It's no use
to feel so badly, Doc. I know what you would give to
have found her for me. I know you did all you could.
I let her escape me. We will find her yet. It's glorious
news that she's in the city. It gives me heart to hear
that. Can't you just remember if she seemed ill?''

The doctor meditated.

``She wasn't the tallest girl I ever saw,'' he said slowly,
``but she was the tallest girl to be pretty. She had on a
white waist and a gray skirt and black hat. Her eyes
and hair were like you said, and she was plain, white
faced, with a hue that might possibly be natural, and
it might be confinement in bad light and air and poor
food. She didn't seem sick, but she isn't well. There
is something the matter with her, but it's not immediate
or dangerous. She appeared like a flower that had got
a little moisture and sprouted in a cellar.''

``You saw her all right!'' said the Harvester, ``and
I think your diagnosis is correct too. That's the way
she seemed to me. I've thought she needed sun and air.
I told the South Wind so the other day.''

``Why you blame fool!'' cried the doctor. ``Is this
thing going to your head? Say, I forgot! There is
something else. I traced her in the store. She was at
the embroidery counter and she bought some silk. If
she ever comes again the clerk is going to hold her and
telephone me or get her address if she has to steal it. Oh,
we are getting there! We will have her pretty soon now.
You ought to feel better just to know that she is in town
and that I've seen her.''

``I do!'' said the Harvester. ``Indeed I do!''

``It can't be much longer,'' said the doctor. ``She's
got to be located soon. But those policemen! I wouldn't
give a nickel for the lot! I'll bet she's walked over
them for two weeks. If I were you I'd discharge the
bunch. They'd be peacefully asleep if she passed them.
If they'd let me alone, I'd have had her. I could have
turned around easily. I've been in dozens of closer
places.''

``Don't worry! This can't last much longer. She's
of and in the city or she wouldn't have picked up the
flowers. Doc, are you sure they were mine?''

``Yes. Half the girls have been tricked out in yours
the past two weeks. I can spot them as far as I can
see.''

``Dear Lord, that's getting close!'' said the Harvester
intensely. ``Seems as if the violets would tell her.''

``Now cut out flowers talking and the South Wind!''
ordered the doctor. ``This is business. The violets
prove something all right, though. If she was in the
country, she could gather plenty herself. She is working
at sewing in some room in town, either over a store
or in a house. If she hadn't been starved for flowers
she never would have stopped for them on the street.
I could see just a flash of hesitation, but she wanted them
too much. David, one bouquet will go in water and be
cared for a week. Man, it's getting close! This does
seem like a link.''

``Since you say it, possibly I dare agree with you,''
said the Harvester.

``How near are you through with that canvass of
yours?''

``About three fourths.''

``Well I'd go on with it. After all we have got to
find her ourselves. Those senile policemen!''

``I am going on with it; you needn't worry about
that. But I've got to change to other flowers. I've
stripped the violet beds. There's quite a crop of berries
coming, but they are not ripe yet, and a tragedy to
pick. The pond lilies are just beginning to open by
the thousand. The lake border is blue with sweet-flag
that is lovely and the marsh pale gold with cowslips.
The ferns are prime and the woods solid sheets of every
colour of bloom. I believe I'll go ahead with the wild
flowers.''

`` I would too! David, you do feel better, don't you?''

``I certainly do, Doctor. Surely it won't be long
now!''

The Harvester was so hopeful that he whistled and
sang on the return to Medicine Woods, and that night
for the first time in many days he sat long over a candlestick,
and took a farewell peep into her room before he
went to bed.

The next day he worked with all his might harvesting
the last remnants of early spring herbs, in the dry-room
and store-house, and on furniture and candlesticks.

Then he went back to flower gathering and every day
offered bunches of exquisite wood and field flowers and
white and gold water lilies from door to door.

Three weeks later the Harvester, perceptibly thin,
pale, and worried entered the office. He sank into a
chair and groaned wearily.

``Isn't this the bitterest luck!'' he cried. ``I've
finished the town. I've almost walked off my legs. I've
sold flowers by the million, but I've not had a sight of
her.''

``It's been almost a tragedy with me,'' said the doctor
gloomily. ``I've killed two dogs and grazed a baby,
because I was watching the sidewalks instead of the
street. What are you going to do now?''

``I am going home and bring up the work to the July
mark. I am going to take it easy and rest a few days
so I can think more clearly. I don't know what I'll
try next. I've punched up the depot and the policemen
again. When I get something new thought out I'll let
you know.''

Then he began emptying his pockets of money and
heaping it on the table, small coins, bills, big and little.

``What on earth is that?''

``That,'' said the Harvester, giving the heap a shove
of contempt, ``that is the price of my pride and humiliation.
That is what it cost people who allowed me to
cheek my way into their homes and rob them, as one
maid said, for my own purposes. Doc, where on earth
does all the money come from? In almost every house
I entered, women had it to waste, in many cases to throw
away. I never saw so much paid for nothing in all my
life. That whole heap is from mushrooms and flowers.''

``What are you piling it there for?''

``For your free ward. I don't want a penny of it. I
wouldn't keep it, not if I was starving.''

``Why David! You couldn't compel any one to buy.
You offered something they wanted, and they paid you
what you asked.''

``Yes, and to keep them from buying, and to make
the stuff go farther, I named prices to shame a shark.
When I think of that mushroom deal I can feel my
face burn. I've made the search I wanted to, and I
am satisfied that I can't find her that way. I have
kept up my work at home between times. I am not
out anything but my time, and it isn't fair to plunder
the city to pay that. Take that cussed money and put
it where I'll never see or hear of it. Do anything you
please, except to ask me ever to profit by a cent. When
I wash my hands after touching it for the last time
maybe I'll feel better.''

``You are a fanatic!''

``If getting rid of that is being a fanatic, I am proud of
the title. You can't imagine what I've been through!''

``Can't I though?'' laughed the doctor. ``In work
of that kind you get into every variety of place; and
some of it is new to you. Never mind! No one can
contaminate you. It is the law that only a man can
degrade himself. Knowing things will not harm you.
Doing them is a different matter. What you know
will be a protection. What you do ruins----if it is
wrong. You are not harmed, you are only disgusted.
Think it over, and in a few days come back and get
your money. It is strictly honest. You earned every
cent of it.''

``If you ever speak of it again or force it on me I'll
take it home and throw it into the lake.''

He went after Betsy and slowly drove to Medicine
Woods. Belshazzar, on the seat beside him, recognized
a silent, disappointed master and whimpered as he rubbed
the Harvester's shoulder to attract his attention.

``This is tough luck, old boy,'' said the Harvester.
``I had such hopes and I worked so hard. I suffered
in the flesh for every hour of it, and I failed. Oh but
I hate the word! If I knew where she is right now, Bel,
I'd give anything I've got. But there's no use to wail
and get sorry for myself. That's against the law of
common decency. I'll take a swim, sleep it off, straighten
up the herbs a little, and go at it again, old fellow; that's
a man's way. She's somewhere, and she's got to be
found, no matter what it costs.''

CHAPTER VIII

BELSHAZZAR'S RECORD POINT

The Harvester set the neglected cabin in order;
then he carefully and deftly packed all his dried
herbs, barks, and roots. Next came carrying
the couch grass, wild alum, and soapwort into the store-
room. Then followed July herbs. He first went to his
beds of foxglove, because the tender leaves of the second
year should be stripped from them at flowering time, and
that usually began two weeks earlier; but his bed lay in
a shaded, damp location and the tall bloom stalks were
only in half flower, their pale lavender making an exquisite
picture. It paid to collect those leaves, so the Harvester
hastily stripped the amount he wanted.

Yarrow was beginning to bloom and he gathered as
much as he required, taking the whole plant. That only
brought a few cents a pound, but it was used entire, so
the weight made it worth while.

Catnip tops and leaves were also ready. As it grew
in the open in dry soil and the beds had been weeded that
spring, he could gather great arm loads of it with a sickle,
but he had to watch the swarming bees. He left the
male fern and mullein until the last for different reasons.

On the damp, cool, rocky hillside, beneath deep shade
of big forest trees, grew the ferns, their long, graceful
fronds waving softly. Tree toads sang on the cool rocks
beneath them, chewinks nested under gnarled roots
among them, rose-breasted grosbeaks sang in grape-vines
clambering over the thickets, and Singing Water ran
close beside. So the Harvester left digging these roots
until nearly the last, because he so disliked to disturb
the bed. He could not have done it if he had not been
forced. All of the demand for his fern never could be
supplied. Of his products none was more important to
the Harvester because this formed the basis of one of the
oldest and most reliable remedies for little children. The
fern had to be gathered with especial care, deteriorated
quickly, and no staple was more subject to adulteration.

So he kept his bed intact, lifted the roots at the proper
time, carefully cleaned without washing, rapidly dried
in currents of hot air, and shipped them in bottles to
the trade. He charged and received fifteen cents a pound,
where careless and indifferent workers got ten.

On the banks of Singing Water, at the head of the fern
bed, the Harvester stood under a gray beech tree and
looked down the swaying length of delicate green. He
was lean and rapidly bronzing, for he seldom remembered
a head covering because he loved the sweep of the wind
in his hair.

``I hate to touch you,'' he said. ``How I wish she
could see you before I begin. If she did, probably she
would say it was a sin, and then I never could muster
courage to do it at all. I'd give a small farm to know
if those violets revived for her. I was crazy to ask
Doc if they were wilted, but I hated to. If they were
from the ones I gathered that morning they should have
been all right.''

A tree toad dared him to come on; a chipmunk grew
saucy as the Harvester bent to an unloved task. If he
stripped the bed as closely as he dared and not injure
it, he could not fill half his orders; so, deftly and with
swift, skilful fingers and an earnest face, he worked.
Belshazzar came down the hill on a rush, nose to earth and
began hunting among the plants. He never could
understand why his loved master was so careless as to go
to work before he had pronounced it safe. When the
fern bed was finished, the Harvester took time to make
a trip to town, but there was no word waiting him; so
he went to the mullein. It lay on a sunny hillside beyond
the couch grass and joined a few small fields, the only
cleared land of the six hundred acres of Medicine Woods.
Over rocks and little hills and hollows spread the pale,
grayish-yellow of the green leaves, and from five to seven
feet arose the flower stems, while the entire earth between
was covered with rosettes of young plants. Belshazzar
went before to give warning if any big rattlers curled
in the sun on the hillside, and after him followed the
Harvester cutting leaves in heaps. That was warm
work and he covered his head with a floppy old straw hat,
with wet grass in the crown, and stopped occasionally
to rest.

He loved that yellow-faced hillside. Because so much
of his reaping lay in the shade and commonly his feet
sank in dead leaves and damp earth, the change was
a rest. He cheerfully stubbed his toes on rocks, and
endured the heat without complaint. It appeared to
him as if a member of every species of butterfly he knew
wavered down the hillside. There were golden-brown
danais, with their black-striped wings, jetty troilus with
an attempt at trailers, big asterias, velvety black with
longer trails and wide bands of yellow dots. Coenia
were most numerous of all and to the Harvester wonderfully
attractive in rich, subdued colours with a wealth of
markings and eye spots. Many small moths, with transparent
wings and noses red as blood, flashed past him
hunting pollen. Goldfinches, intent on thistle bloom,
wavered through the air trailing mellow, happy notes
behind them, and often a humming-bird visited the
mullein. On the lake wild life splashed and chattered
incessantly, and sometimes the Harvester paused and stood
with arms heaped with leaves, to interpret some unusually
appealing note of pain or anger or some very attractive
melody. The red-wings were swarming, the killdeers
busy, and he thought of the Dream Girl and smiled.

``I wonder if she would like this,'' he mused.

When the mullein leaves were deep on the trays of the
dry-house he began on the bloom and that was a task
he loved. Just to lay off the beds in swaths and follow
them, deftly picking the stamens and yellow petals from
the blooms. These he would dry speedily in hot air,
bottle, and send at once to big laboratories. The listed
price was seventy-five cents a pound, but the beautiful
golden bottles of the Harvester always brought more.
The work was worth while, and he liked the location and
gathering of this particular crop: for these reasons he
always left it until the last, and then revelled in the gold
of sunshine, bird, butterfly, and flower. Several days
were required to harvest the mullein and during the
time the man worked with nimble fingers, while his brain
was intensely occupied with the question of what to do
next in his search for the Girl.

When the work was finished, he went to the deep wood
to take a peep at acres of thrifty ginseng, and he was
satisfied as he surveyed the big bed. Long years he
had laboured diligently; soon came the reward. He
had not realized it before, but as he studied the situation
he saw that he either must begin this harvest at once or
employ help. If he waited until September he could not
gather one third of the crop alone.

``But the roots will weigh less if I take them now,'' he
argued, ``and I can work at nothing in comfort until
I have located her. I will go on with my search and
allow the ginseng to grow that much heavier. What
a picture! It is folly to disturb this now, for I will lose
the seed of every plant I dig, and that is worth almost as
much as the root. It is a question whether I want to
furnish the market with seed, and so raise competition
for my bed. I think, be jabbers, that I'll wait for this
harvest until the seed is ripe, and then bury part of a
head where I dig a root, as the Indians did. That's
the idea! The more I grow, the more money; and I
may need considerable for her. One thing I'd like to
know: Are these plants cultivated? All the books quote
the wild at highest rates and all I've ever sold was wild.
The start grew here naturally. What I added from the
surrounding country was wild, but through and among
it I've sown seed I bought, and I've tended it with every
care. But this is deep wood and wild conditions. I
think I have a perfect right to so label it. I'll ask Doc.
And another thing I'll go through the woods west
of Onabasha where I used to find ginseng, and see if I
can get a little and then take the same amount of plants
grown here, and make a test. That way I can discover
any difference before I go to market. This is my gold
mine, and that point is mighty important to me, so I'll
go this very day. I used to find it in the woods northeast
of town and on the land Jameson bought, west. Wonder
if he lives there yet. He should have died of pure meanness
long ago. I'll drive to the river and hunt along
the bank.''

Early the following morning the Harvester went to
Onabasha and stopped at the hospital for news. Finding
none, he went through town and several miles into the
country on the other side, to a piece of lowland lying
along the river bank, where he once had found and
carried home to reset a big bed of ginseng. If he could
get only a half pound of roots from there now, they would
serve his purpose. He went down the bank, Belshazzar
at his heels, and at last found the place. Many trees
had been cut, but there remained enough for shade;
the fields bore the ragged, unattractive appearance of
old. The Harvester smiled grimly as he remembered
that the man who lived there once had charged him for
damage he might do to trees in driving across his woods,
and boasted to his neighbours that a young fool was paying
for the privilege of doing his grubbing. If Jameson
had known what the roots he was so anxious to dispose
of brought a pound on the market at that time, he would
have been insane with anger. So the Harvester's eyes
were dancing with fun and a wry grin twisted his lips as
he clambered over the banks of the recently dredged
river, and looked at its pitiful condition and straight,
muddy flow.

``Appears to match the remainder of the Jameson
property,'' he said. ``I don't know who he is or where he
came from, but he's no farmer. Perhaps he uses this
land to corral the stock he buys until he can sell it again.''

He went down the embankment and began to search
for the location where he formerly had found the ginseng.
When he came to the place he stood amazed, for from
seed, roots, and plants he had missed, the growth had
sprung up and spread, so that at a rapid estimate the
Harvester thought it contained at least five pounds,
allowing for what it would shrink on account of being
gathered early. He hesitated an instant, and thought
of coming later; but the drive was long and the loss
would not amount to enough to pay for a second trip.
About taking it, he never thought at all. He once had
permission from the owner to dig all the shrubs, bushes,
and weeds he desired from that stretch of woods, and had
paid for possible damages that might occur. As he bent
to the task there did come a fleeting thought that the
patch was weedless and in unusual shape for wild stuff.
Then, with swift strokes of his light mattock, he lifted
the roots, crammed them into his sack, whistled to
Belshazzar, and going back to the wagon, drove away.
Reaching home he washed the ginseng, and spread it on
a tray to dry. The first time he wanted the mattock
he realized that he had left it lying where he had worked.
It was an implement that he had directed a blacksmith
to fashion to meet his requirements. No store contained
anything half so useful to him. He had worked with it
for years and it just suited him, so there was nothing to
do but go back. Betsy was too tired to return that
day, so he planned to dig his ginseng with something
else, finish his work the following morning, and get the
mattock in the afternoon.

``It's like a knife you've carried for years, or a gun,''
muttered the Harvester. ``I actually don't know how
to get along without it. What made me so careless I
can't imagine. I never before in my life did a trick like
that. I wonder if I hurried a little. I certainly was
free to take it. He always wanted the stuff dug up. Of
all the stupid tricks, Belshazzar, that was the worst.
Now Betsy and a half day of wasted time must pay for
my carelessness. Since I have to go, I'll look a little
farther. Maybe there is more. Those woods used to
be full of it.''

According to this programme, the next afternoon the
Harvester again walked down the embankment of the
mourning river and through the ragged woods to the
place where the ginseng had been. He went forward,
stepping lightly, as men of his race had walked the forest
for ages, swerving to avoid boughs, and looking straight
ahead. Contrary to his usual custom of coming to heel
in a strange wood, Belshazzar suddenly darted around the
man and took the path they had followed the previous
day. The animal was performing his office in life; he
had heard or scented something unusual. The Harvester
knew what that meant. He looked inquiringly at the
dog, glanced around, and then at the earth. Belshazzar
proceeded noiselessly at a rapid pace over the leaves:
Suddenly the master saw the dog stop in a stiff point.
Lifting his feet lightly and straining his eyes before
him, the Harvester passed a spice thicket and came in
line.

For one second he stood as rigid as Belshazzar. The
next his right arm shot upward full length, and began
describing circles, his open palm heavenward, and into
his face leapt a glorified expression of exultation. Face
down in the rifled ginseng bed lay a sobbing girl. Her
frame was long and slender, a thick coil of dark hair;
bound her head. A second more and the Harvester bent
and softly patted Belshazzar's head. The beast broke
point and looked up. The man caught the dog's chin
in a caressing grip, again touched his head, moved soundless
lips, and waved toward the prostrate figure. The
dog hesitated. The Harvester made the same motions.
Belshazzar softly stepped over the leaves, passed around
the feet of the girl, and paused beside her, nose to earth,
softly sniffing.

In one moment she came swiftly to a sitting posture.

``Oh!'' she cried in a spasm of fright.

Belshazzar reached an investigating nose and wagged
an eager tail.

``Why you are a nice friendly dog!'' said the trembling
voice.

He immediately verified the assertion by offering his
nose for a kiss. The girl timidly laid a hand on his head.

``Heaven knows I'm lonely enough to kiss a dog,''
she said, ``but suppose you belong to the man who stole
my ginseng, and then ran away so fast he forgot his----
his piece he digged with.''

Belshazzar pressed closer.

``I am just killed, and I don't care whose dog you are,''
sobbed the girl.

She threw her arms around Belshazzar's neck and laid
her white face against his satiny shoulder. The Harvester
could endure no more. He took a step forward, his face
convulsed with pain.

``Please don't!'' he begged. ``I took your ginseng.
I'll bring it back to-morrow. There wasn't more than
twenty-five or thirty dollars' worth. It doesn't amount
to one tear.''

The girl arose so quickly, the Harvester could not see
how she did it. With a startled fright on her face, and the
dark eyes swimming, she turned to him in one long look.
Words rolled from the lips of the man in a jumble. Behind
the tears there was a dull, expressionless blue in the
girl's eyes and her face was so white that it appeared
blank. He began talking before she could speak, in an
effort to secure forgiveness without condemnation.

``You see, I grow it for a living on land I own, and I've
always gathered all there was in the country and no one
cared. There never was enough in one place to pay, and
no other man wanted to spend the time, and so I've always
felt free to take it. Every one knew I did, and no
one ever objected before. Once I paid Henry Jameson
for the privilege of cleaning it from these woods. That
was six or seven years ago, and it didn't occur to me that
I wasn't at liberty to dig what has grown since. I'll
bring it back at once, and pay you for the shrinkage from
gathering it too early. There won't be much over six
pounds when it's dry. Please, please don't feel badly.
Won't you trust me to return it, and make good the
damage I've done?''

The face of the Harvester was eager and his tones
appealing, as he leaned forward trying to make her
understand.

``Certainly!'' said the Girl as she bent to pat the dog,
while she dried her eyes under cover of the movement.
``Certainly! It can make no difference!''

But as the Harvester drew a deep breath of relief, she
suddenly straightened to full height and looked straight
at him.

``Oh what is the use to tell a pitiful lie!'' she cried.
``It does make a difference! It makes all the difference
in the world! I need that money! I need it unspeakably.
I owe a debt I must pay. What----what did I
understand you to say ginseng is worth?''

``If you will take a few steps,'' said the Harvester, ``and
make yourself comfortable on this log in the shade, I will
tell you all I know about it.''

The girl walked swiftly to the log indicated, seated
herself, and waited. The Harvester followed to a
respectful distance.

``I can't tell to an ounce what wet roots would weigh,''
he said as easily as he could command his voice to speak
with the heart in him beating wildly, ``and of course
they lose greatly in drying; but I've handled enough that
I know the weight I carried home will come to six pounds
at the very least. Then you must figure on some loss,
because I dug this before it really was ready. It does
not reach full growth until September, and if it is taken
too soon there is a decrease in weight. I will make that
up to you when I return it.''

The troubled eyes were gazing on his face intently,
and the Harvester studied them as he talked.

``You would think, then, there would be all of six
pounds?

``Yes,'' said the Harvester, ``closer eight. When I
replace the shrinkage there is bound to be over seven.''

``And how much did I understand you to say it brought
a pound?''

``That all depends,'' answered he. ``If you cure it
yourself, and dry it too much, you lose in weight. If
you carry it in a small lot to the druggists of Onabasha,
probably you will not get over five dollars for it.''

``Five?''

It was a startled cry.

``How much did you expect?'' asked the Harvester
gently.

``Uncle Henry said he thought he could get fifty cents
a pound for all I could find.''

``If your Uncle Henry has learned at last that ginseng
is a salable article he should know something about the
price also. Will you tell me what he said, and how you
came to think of gathering roots for the market?''

``There were men talking beneath the trees one Sunday
afternoon about old times and hunting deer, and
they spoke of people who made money long ago gathering
roots and barks, and they mentioned one man who lived
by it yet.''

``Was his name Langston?''

``Yes, I remember because I liked the name. I was
so eager to earn something, and I can't leave here just
now because Aunt Molly is very ill, so the thought came
that possibly I could gather stuff worth money, after
my work was finished. I went out and asked questions.
They said nothing brought enough to make it pay any
one, except this ginseng plant, and the Langston man
almost had stripped the country. Then uncle said he
used to get stuff here, and he might have got some of
that. I asked what it was like, so they told me and I
hunted until I found that, and it seemed a quantity to
me. Of course I didn't know it had to be dried. Uncle
took a root I dug to a store, and they told him that it
wasn't much used any more, but they would give him
fifty cents a pound for it. What MAKES you think you
can get five dollars?''

``With your permission,'' said the Harvester.

He seated himself on the log, drew from his pocket
an old pamphlet, and spreading it before her, ran a pencil
along the line of a list of schedule prices for common
drug roots and herbs. Because he understood, his eyes
were very bright, and his voice a trifle crisp. A latent
anger springing in his breast was a good curb for his
emotions. He was closely acquainted with all of the
druggists of Onabasha, and he knew that not one of them
had offered less than standard prices for ginseng.

``The reason I think so,'' he said gently, ``is because
growing it is the largest part of my occupation, and it was
a staple with my father before me. I am David Langston,
of whom you heard those men speak. Since I was a
very small boy I have lived by collecting herbs and roots,
and I get more for ginseng than anything else. Very
early I tired of hunting other people's woods for herbs,
so I began transplanting them to my own. I moved
that bed out there seven years ago. What you found has
grown since from roots I overlooked and seeds that fell
at that time. Now do you think I am enough of an
authority to trust my word on the subject?''

There was not a change of expression on her white
face.

``You surely should know,'' she said wearily, ``and
you could have no possible object in deceiving me. Please
go on.''

``Any country boy or girl can find ginseng, gather,
wash, and dry it, and get five dollars a pound. I can
return yours to-morrow and you can cure and take it
to a druggist I will name you, and sell for that. But if
you will allow me to make a suggestion, you can get
more. Your roots are now on the trays of an evaporating
house. They will dry to the proper degree desired by
the trade, so that they will not lose an extra ounce in
weight, and if I send them with my stuff to big wholesale
houses I deal with, they will be graded with the
finest wild ginseng. It is worth more than the cultivated
and you will get closer eight dollars a pound for
it than five. There is some speculation in it, and the
market fluctuates: but, as a rule, I sell for the highest
price the drug brings, and, at times when the season is
very dry, I set my own prices. Shall I return yours or
may I cure and sell it, and bring you the money?''

``How much trouble would that make you?''

``None. The work of digging and washing is already
finished. All that remains is to weigh it and make a
memorandum of the amount when I sell. I should very
much like to do it. It would be a comfort to see the
money go into your hands. If you are afraid to trust
me, I will give you the names of several people you can
ask concerning me the next time you go to the city.''

She looked at him steadily.

``Never mind that,'' she said. ``But why do you offer
to do it for a stranger? It must be some trouble, no
matter how small you represent it to be.''

``Perhaps I am going to pay you eight and sell for
ten.''

``I don't think you can. Five sounds fabulous to me.
I can't believe that. If you wanted to make money you
needn't have told me you took it. I never would have
known. That isn't your reason!''

``Possibly I would like to atone for those tears I
caused,'' said the Harvester.

``Don't think of that! They are of no consequence
to any one. You needn't do anything for me on that
account.''

``Don't search for a reason,'' said the Harvester, in
his gentlest tones. ``Forget that feature of the case.
Say I'm peculiar, and allow me to do it because it would
be a pleasure. In close two weeks I will bring you the
money. Is it a bargain?''

``Yes, if you care to make it.''

``I care very much. We will call that settled.''

``I wish I could tell you what it will mean to me,'' said
the Girl.

``If you only would,'' plead the Harvester.

`` I must not burden a stranger with my troubles.''

``But if it would make the stranger so happy!''

``That isn't possible. I must face life and bear what
it brings me alone.''

``Not unless you choose,'' said the Harvester. ``That
is, if you will pardon me, a narrow view of life. It cuts
other people out of the joy of service. If you can't tell
me, would you trust a very lovely and gentle woman I
could bring to you?''

``No more than you. It is my affair; I must work it
out myself.''

``I am mighty sorry,'' said the Harvester. ``I believe
you err in that decision. Think it over a day or so, and
see if two heads are not better than one. You will
realize when this ginseng matter is settled that you profited
by trusting me. The same will hold good along
other lines, if you only can bring yourself to think so.
At any rate, try. Telling a trouble makes it lighter.
Sympathy should help, if nothing can be done. And
as for money, I can show you how to earn sums at least
worth your time, if you have nothing else you want
to do.''

The Girl bent toward him.

``Oh please do tell me!'' she cried eagerly. ``I've tried
and tried to find some way ever since I have been here,
but every one else I have met says I can't, and nothing
seems to be worth anything. If you only would tell me
something I could do!''

``If you will excuse my saying so,'' said the Harvester,
``it appeals to me that ease, not work, is the
thing you require. You appear extremely worn. Won't
you let me help you find a way to a long rest first?''

``Impossible!'' cried the Girl. ``I know I am white
and appear ill, but truly I never have been sick in all
my life. I have been having trouble and working too
much, but I'll be better soon. Believe me, there is no
rest for me now. I must earn the money I owe first.''

``There is a way, if you care to take it,'' said the
Harvester. ``In my work I have become very well
acquainted with the chief surgeon of the city hospital.
Through him I happen to know that he has a free bed in
a beautiful room, where you could rest until you are
perfectly strong again, and that room is empty just now.
When you are well, I will tell you about the work.''

As she arose the Harvester stood, and tall and straight
she faced him.

``Impossible!'' she said. ``It would be brutal to leave my
aunt. I cannot pay to rest in a hospital ward, and I will
not accept charity. If you can put me in the way of earning,
even a few cents a day, at anything I could do outside
the work necessary to earn my board here, it would bring
me closer to happiness than anything else on earth.''

``What I suggest is not impossible,'' said the Harvester
softly. ``If you will go, inside an hour a sweet and gentle
lady will come for you and take you to ease and perfect
rest until you are strong again. I will see that your aunt
is cared for scrupulously. I can't help urging you. It
is a crime to talk of work to a woman so manifestly worn
as you are.''

``Then we will not speak of it,'' said the Girl wearily.
``It is time for me to go, anyway. I see you mean to
be very kind, and while I don't in the least understand
it, I do hope you feel I am grateful. If half you say about
the ginseng comes true, I can make a payment worth
while before I had hoped to. I have no words to tell you
what that will mean to me.''

``If this debt you speak of were paid, could you rest
then?''

``I could lie down and give up in peace, and I think
I would.''

``I think you wouldn't,'' said the Harvester, ``because
you wouldn't be allowed. There are people in these days
who make a business of securing rest for the tired and
over weary, and they would come and prevent that if
you tried it. Please let me make another suggestion.
If you owe money to some one you feel needs it and the
debt is preying on you, let's pay it.''

He drew a small check-book from his pocket and slipped
a pen from a band.

``If you will name the amount and give me the address,
you shall be free to go to the rest I ask for you inside
an hour.''

Then slowly from head to foot she looked at him.

``Why?''

``Because your face and attitude clearly indicate that
you are over tired. Believe me, you do yourself wrong
if you refuse.''

``In what way would changing creditors rest me?''

``I thought perhaps you were owing some one who
needed the money. I am not a rich man, but I have no
one save myself to provide for and I have funds lying
idle that I would be glad to use for you. If you make a
point of it, when you are rested, you can repay me.''

``My creditor needs the money, but I should prefer
owing him rather than a perfect stranger. What you
suggest would help me not at all. I must go now.''

``Very well,'' said the Harvester. ``If you will tell me
whom to ask for and where you live, I will come to see
you to-morrow and bring you some pamphlets. With
these and with a little help you soon can earn any amount
a girl is likely to owe. It will require but a little while.
Where can I find you?''

The Girl hesitated and for the first time a hint of colour
flushed her cheek. But courage appeared to be her
strong point.

``Do you live in this part of the country?'' she asked.

``I live ten miles from here, east of Onabasha,'' he
answered.

``Do you know Henry Jameson?''

``By sight and by reputation.''

``Did you ever know anything kind or humane of him?''

``I never did.''

``My name is Ruth Jameson. At present I am
indebted to him for the only shelter I have. His wife
is ill through overwork and worry, and I am paying for
my bed and what I don't eat, principally, by attempting
her work. It scarcely would be fair to Uncle Henry to
say that I do it. I stagger around as long as I can stand,
then I sit through his abuse. He is a pleasant man.
Please don't think I am telling you this to harrow your
sympathy further. The reason I explain is because I
am driven. If I do not, you will misjudge me when I
say that I only can see you here. I understood what
you meant when you said Uncle Henry should have
known the price of ginseng if he knew it was for sale.
He did. He knew what he could get for it, and what
he meant to pay me. That is one of his original methods
with a woman. If he thought I could earn anything
worth while, he would allow me, if I killed myself doing
it; and then he would take the money by force if necessary.
So I can meet you here only. I can earn just
what I may in secret. He buys cattle and horses and
is away from home much of the day, and when Aunt
Molly is comfortable I can have a few hours.''

``I understand,'' said the Harvester. ``But this is an
added hardship. Why do you remain? Why subject
yourself to force and work too heavy for you?''

``Because his is the only roof on earth where I feel I
can pay for all I get. I don't care to discuss it, I only
want you to say you understand, if I ask you to bring the
pamphlets here and tell me how I can earn money.''

``I do,'' said the Harvester earnestly, although his
heart was hot in protest. ``You may be very sure that
I will not misjudge you. Shall I come at two o'clock
to-morrow, Miss Jameson?''

``If you will be so kind.''

The Harvester stepped aside and she passed him and
crossing the rifled ginseng patch went toward a low
brown farmhouse lying in an unkept garden, beside a
ragged highway. The man sat on the log she had vacated,
held his head between his hands and tried to think,
but he could not for big waves of joy that swept over
him when he realized that at last he had found her, had
spoken with her, and had arranged a meeting for the
morrow.

``Belshazzar,'' he said softly, ``I wish I could leave you
to protect her. Every day you prove to me that I need
you, but Heaven knows her necessity is greater. Bel,
she makes my heart ache until it feels like jelly. There
seems to be just one thing to do. Get that fool debt
paid like lightning, and lift her out of here quicker than
that. Now, we will go and see Doc, and call off the
watch-dogs of the law. Ahead of them, aren't we,
Belshazzar? There is a better day coming; we feel it in our
bones, don't we, old partner?''

The Harvester started through the woods on a rush,
and as the exercise warmed his heart, he grew wonderfully
glad. At last he had found her. Uncertainty was
over. If ever a girl needed a home and care he thought
she did. He was so jubilant that he felt like crying
aloud, shouting for joy, but by and by the years of sober
repression made their weight felt, so he climbed into
the wagon and politely requested Betsy to make her
best time to Onabasha. Betsy had been asked to make
haste so frequently of late that she at first almost doubted
the sanity of her master, the law of whose life, until
recently, had been to take his time. Now he appeared
to be in haste every day. She had become so accustomed
to being urged to hurry that she almost had developed
a gait; so at the Harvester's suggestion she did her level
best to Onabasha and the hospital, where she loved to
nose Belshazzar and rest near the watering tap under
a big tree.

The Harvester went down the hall and into the office
on the run, and his face appeared like a materialized
embodiment of living joy. Doctor Carey turned at his
approach and then bounded half way across the room,
his hands outstretched.

``You've found her, David!''

The Harvester grabbed the hand of his friend and
stood pumping it up and down while he gulped at the
lump in his throat, and big tears squeezed from his eyes,
but he could only nod his proud head.

``Found her!'' exulted Doctor Carey. ``Really found
her! Well that's great! Sit down and tell me, boy!
Is she sick, as we feared? Did you only see her or did
you get to talk with her?''

``Well sir,'' said the Harvester, choking back his
emotions, ``you remember that ginseng I told you about
getting on the old Jameson place last night. To-day,
I learned I'd lost that hand-made mattock I use most,
and I went back for it, and there she was.''

``In the country?''

``Yes sir!''

``Well why didn't we think of it before?''

``I suppose first we would have had to satisfy
ourselves that she wasn't in town, anyway.''

``Sure! That would be the logical way to go at it!
And so you found her?''

``Yes sir, I found her! Just Belshazzar and I! I was
going along on my way to the place, and he ran past
me and made a stiff point, and when I came up, there she
was!''

``There she was?''

``Yes sir; there she was!''

They shook hands again.

``Then of course you spoke to her.''

``Yes I spoke to her.''

`` Were you pleased?''

``With her speech and manner?----yes. But, Doc, if
ever a woman needed everything on earth!''

``Well did you get any kind of a start made?''

``I couldn't do so very much. I had to go a little slow
for fear of frightening her, but I tried to get her to come
here and she won't until a debt she owes is paid, and she's
in no condition to work.''

``Got any idea how much it is?''

``No, but it can't be any large sum. I tried to offer
to pay it, but she had no hesitation in telling me she
preferred owing a man she knew to a stranger.''

``Well if she is so particular, how did she come to tell
you first thing that she was in debt?''

The Harvester explained.

``Oh I see!'' said the doctor. ``Well you'll have to
baby her along with the idea that she is earning money
and pay her double until you get that off her mind, and
while you are at it, put in your best licks, my boy; perk
right up and court her like a house afire. Women like it.
All of them do. They glory in feeling that a man is
crazy about them.''

``Well I'm insane enough over her,'' said the Harvester,
``but I'd hate like the nation for her to know it.
Seems as if a woman couldn't respect such an addle-pate
as I am lately.''

``Don't you worry about that,'' advised the doctor.
``Just you make love to her. Go at it in the good old-
fashioned way.''

``But maybe the `good old-fashioned way' isn't my
way.''

``What's the difference whose way it is, if it wins?''

``But Kipling says: `Each man makes love his own
way!' ''

``I seem to have heard you mention that name be
fore,'' said the doctor. ``Do you regard him as an
authority?''

``I do!'' said the Harvester. ``Especially when he
advises me after my own heart and reason. Miss Jameson
is not a silly girl. She's a woman, and twenty-four
at least. I don't want her to care for a trick or a
pretence. I do want her to love me. Not that I am worth
her attention, but because she needs some strong man
fearfully, and I am ready and more `willing' than the
original Barkis. But, like him, I have to let her know
it in my way, and court her according to the promptings
of my heart.''

``You deceive yourself!'' said the doctor flatly. ``That's
all bosh! Your tongue says it for the satisfaction of
your ears, and it does sound well. You will court her
according to your ideas of the conventions, as you understand
them, and strictly in accordance with what you
consider the respect due her. If you had followed the
thing you call the `promptings of your heart,' you would
have picked her up by main force and brought her to
my best ward, instead of merely suggesting it and giving
up when she said no. If you had followed your heart,
you would have choked the name and amount out of her
and paid that devilish debt. You walk away in a case
like that, and then have the nerve to come here and
prate to me about following your heart. I'll wager my
last dollar your heart is sore because you were not allowed
to help her; but on the proposition that you followed
its promptings I wouldn't stake a penny. That's all
tommy-rot!''

``It is,'' agreed the Harvester. ``Utter! But what can
a man do?''

``I don't know what you can do! I'd have paid that
debt and brought her to the hospital.''

``I'll go and ask Mrs. Carey about your courtship. I
want her help on this, anyway. I can pick up Miss
Jameson and bring her here if any man can, but she is
nursing a sick woman who depends solely on her for care.
She is above average size, and she has a very decided
mind of her own. I don't think you would use force
and do what you think best for her, if you were in my
place. You would wait until you understood the situation
better, and knew that what you did was for the
best, ultimately.''

``I don't know whether I would or not. One thing is
sure: I'm mighty glad you have found her. May I
tell my wife?''

``Please do! And ask her if I may depend on her if
I need a woman's help. Now I'll call off the valiant
police and go home and take a good, sound sleep. Haven't
had many since I first saw her.''

So Betsy trotted down the valley, up the embankment,
crossed the railroad, over the levee across Singing Water,
and up the hill to the cabin. As they passed it, the
Harvester jumped from the wagon, tossed the hitching
strap to Belshazzar, and entered. He walked straight
to her door, unlocked it, and uncovering, went inside.
Softly he passed from piece to piece of the furniture he
had made for her, and then surveyed the walls and floor.

``It isn't half good enough,'' he said, ``but it will have
to answer until I can do better. Surely she will know
I tried and care for that, anyway. I wonder how long
it will take me to get her here. Oh, if I only could know
she was comfortable and happy! Happy! She doesn't
appear as if she ever had heard that word. Well this
will be a good place to teach her. I've always enjoyed
myself here. I'm going to have faith that I can win
her and make her happy also. When I go to the stable
to do my work for the night if I could know she was in
this cabin and glad of it, and if I could hear her down
here singing like a happy care-free girl, I'd scarcely be
able to endure the joy of it.''

CHAPTER IX

THE HARVESTER GOES COURTING

``She is on Henry Jameson's farm, four miles west of
Onabasha,'' said the Harvester, as he opened his
eyes next morning, and laid a caressing hand on
Belshazzar's head. ``At two o'clock we are going to see
her, and we are going to prolong the visit to the ultimate
limit, so we should make things count here before we
start.''

He worked in a manner that accomplished much. There
seemed no end to his energy that morning. Despatching
the usual routine, he gathered the herbs that were ready,
spread them on the shelves of the dry-house, found
time to do several things in the cabin, and polish a piece
of furniture before he ate his lunch and hitched Betsy
to the wagon. He also had recovered his voice, and
talked almost incessantly as he worked. When it neared
time to start he dressed carefully. He stood before
his bookcase and selected several pamphlets published
by the Department of Agriculture. He went to his
beds and gathered a large arm load of plants. Then he
was ready to make his first trip to see the Dream Girl,
but it never occurred to him that he was going courting.

He had decided fully that there would be no use to try
to make love to a girl manifestly so ill and in trouble.
The first thing, it appeared to him, was to dispel the
depression, improve the health, and then do the love
making. So, in the most business-like manner possible
and without a shade of embarrassment, the Harvester
took his herbs and books and started for the Jameson
woods. At times as he drove along he espied something
that he used growing beside the road and stopped to
secure a specimen.

He came down the river bank and reached the ginseng
bed at half-past one. He was purposely early. He laid
down his books and plants, and rolled the log on which she
sat the day before to a more shaded location, where a big
tree would serve for a back rest. He pulled away brush
and windfalls, heaped dry brown leaves, and tramped
them down for her feet. Then he laid the books on the
log, the arm load of plants beside them, and went to the
river to wash his soiled hands.

Belshazzar's short bark told him the Girl was coming,
and between the trees he saw the dog race to meet her
and she bent to stroke his head. She wore the same
dress and appeared even paler and thinner. The Harvester
hurried up the bank, wiping his hands on his
handkerchief.

``Glad to see you!'' he greeted her casually. ``I've
fixed you a seat with a back rest to-day. Don't be
frightened at the stack of herbs. You needn't gather
all of those. They are only suggestions. They are just
common roadside plants that have some medicinal value
and are worth collecting. Please try my davenport.''

``Thank you!'' she said as she dropped on the log and
leaned her head against the tree. It appeared as if her
eyes closed a few seconds in spite of her, and while they
were shut the Harvester looked steadily and intently on
a face of exquisite beauty, but so marred by pallor and
lines of care that search was required to recognize just
how handsome she was, and if he had not seen her in
perfection in the dream the Harvester might have missed
glorious possibilities. To bring back that vision would
be a task worth while was his thought. With the first
faint quiver of an eyelash the Harvester took a few
steps and bent over a plant, and as he did so the Girl's
eyes followed him.

He appeared so tall and strong, so bronzed by summer
sun and wind, his face so keen and intense, that swift
fear caught her heart. Why was he there? Why should
he take so much trouble for her? With difficulty she
restrained herself from springing up and running away.
Turning with the plant in his hand the Harvester saw the
panic in her eyes, and it troubled his heart. For an
instant he was bewildered, then he understood.

``I don't want you to work when you are not able,'' he
said in his most matter-of-fact voice, ``but if you still
think that you are, I'll be very glad. I need help just
now, more than I can tell you, and there seem to be so
few people who can be trusted. Gathering stuff for drugs
is really very serious business. You see, I've a reputation
to sustain with some of the biggest laboratories in the
country, not to mention the fact that I sometimes try
compounding a new remedy for some common complaint
myself. I rather take pride in the fact that my stuff goes
in so fresh and clean that I always get anywhere from
three to ten cents a pound above the listed prices for it. I
want that money, but I want an unbroken record for doing
a job right and being square and careful, much more.''

He thought the appearance of fright was fading, and a
tinge of interest taking its place. She was looking
straight at him, and as he talked he could see her summoning
her tired forces to understand and follow him, so
he continued:

``One would think that as medicines are required in
cases of life and death, collectors would use extreme caution,
but some of them are criminally careless. It's a
common thing to gather almost any fern for male fern; to
throw in anything that will increase weight, to wash
imperfectly, and commit many other sins that lie with the
collector; beyond that I don't like to think. I suppose
there are men who deliberately adulterate pure stuff to
make it go farther, but when it comes to drugs, I scarcely
can speak of it calmly. I like to do a thing right. I
raise most of my plants, bushes, and herbs. I gather
exactly in season, wash carefully if water dare be used,
clean them otherwise if not, and dry them by a hot air
system in an evaporator I built purposely. Each package
I put up is pure stuff, clean, properly dried, and fresh. If
I caught any man in the act of adulterating any of it I'm
afraid he would get hurt badly--and usually I am a
peaceable man. I am explaining this to show how
very careful you must be to keep things separate and
collect the right plants if you are going to sell stuff to
me. I am extremely particular.''

The Girl was leaning toward him, watching his face,
and hers was slowly changing. She was deeply interested,
much impressed, and more at ease. When the Harvester
saw he had talked her into confidence he crossed
the leaves, and sitting on the log beside her, picked up
the books and opened one.

``Oh I will be careful,'' said the Girl. ``If you will
trust me to collect for you, I will undertake only what
I am sure I know, and I'll do exactly as you tell me.''

``There are a dozen things that bring a price ranging
from three to fifteen cents a pound, that are in season
just now. I suppose you would like to begin on
some common, easy things, that will bring the most
money.''

Without a breath of hesitation she answered, ``I will
commence on whatever you are short of and need most
to have.''

The heart of the Harvester gave a leap that almost
choked him, for he was vividly conscious of a broken
shoe she was hiding beneath her skirts. He wanted to
say ``thank you,'' but he was afraid to, so he turned the
leaves of the book.

``I am working just now on mullein,'' he said.

``Oh I know mullein,'' she cried, with almost a
hint of animation in her voice. ``The tall, yellow
flower stem rising from a circle of green felt leaves!''

``Good!'' said the Harvester. ``What a pretty way
to describe it! Do you know any more plants?''

``Only a few! I had a high-school course in botany,
but it was all about flower and leaf formation, nothing
at all of what anything was good for. I also learned
a few, drawing them for leather and embroidery designs.''

``Look here!'' cried the Harvester. ``I came with an
arm load of herbs and expected to tell you all about
foxglove, mullein, yarrow, jimson, purple thorn apple,
blessed thistle, hemlock, hoarhound, lobelia, and everything
in season now; but if you already have a profession,
why do you attempt a new one? Why don't you go
on drawing? I never saw anything so stupid as most
of the designs from nature for book covers and
decorations, leather work and pottery. They are the same
old subjects worked over and over. If you can draw
enough to make original copies, I can furnish you with
flowers, vines, birds, and insects, new, unused, and
of exquisite beauty, for every month in the year. I've
looked into the matter a little, because I am rather handy
with a knife, and I carve candlesticks from suitable
pieces of wood. I always have trouble getting my
designs copied; securing something new and unusual,
never! If you can draw just well enough to reproduce
what you see, gathering drugs is too slow and tiresome.
What you want to do is to reproduce the subjects I
will bring, and I'll buy what I want in my work, and
sell the remainder at the arts and crafts stores for you.
Or I can find out what they pay for such designs at
potteries and ceramic factories. You have no time to
spend on herbs, when you are in the woods, if you can
draw.''

``I am surely in the woods,'' said the Girl, ``and I
know I can copy correctly. I often made designs for
embroidery and leather for the shop mother and I worked
for in Chicago.''

``Won't they buy them of you now?''

``Undoubtedly.''

``Do they pay anything worth while?''

``I don't know how their prices compare with others.
One place was all I worked for. I think they pay what
is fair.''

``We will find out,'' said the Harvester promptly.

``I----I don't think you need waste the time,'' faltered
the Girl. ``I had better gather the plants for a
while at least.''

``Collecting crude drug material is not easy,'' said
the Harvester. ``Drawing may not be either, but at
least you could sit while you work, and it should bring
you more money. Besides, I very much want a moth
copied for a candlestick I am carving. Won't you
draw that for me? I have some pupae cases and the
moths will be out any day now. If I'd bring you one,
wouldn't you just make a copy?''

The Girl gripped her hands together and stared
straight ahead of her for a second, then she turned to
him.

``I'd like to,'' she said, ``but I have nothing to work
with. In Chicago they furnished my material at the
shop and I drew the design and was paid for the pattern.
I didn't know there would be a chance for anything like
that here. I haven't even proper pencils.''

``Then the way for you to do this is to strip the first
mullein plants you see of the petals. I will pay you
seventy-five cents a pound for them. By the time you
get a few pounds I can have material you need for drawing
here and you can go to work on whatever flowers,
vines, and things you can find in the woods, with no
thanks to any one.''

``I can't see that,'' said the Girl. ``It would appear
to me that I would be under more obligations than I
could repay, and to a stranger.''

``I figure it this way,'' said the Harvester, watching
from the corner of his eye. ``I can sell at good prices
all the mullein flowers I can secure. You collect for
me, I buy them. You can use drawing tools; I get
them for you, and you pay me with the mullein or out
of the ginseng money I owe you. You already have
that coming, and it's just as much yours as it will be ten
days from now. You needn't hesitate a second about
drawing on it, because I am in a hurry for the moth
pattern. I find time to carve only at night, you see.
As for being under obligations to a stranger, in the first
place all the debt would be on my side. I'd get the drugs
and the pattern I want; and, in the second place, I
positively and emphatically refuse to be a stranger.
It would be so much better to be mutual helpers and
friends of the kind worth having; and the sooner we
begin, the sooner we can work together to good advantage.
Get that stranger idea out of your head right now,
and replace it with thoughts of a new friend, who is
willing''--the Harvester detected panic in her eyes and
ended casually--``to enter a partnership that will be of
benefit to both of us. Partners can't be strangers, you
know,'' he finished.

``I don't know what to think,'' said the Girl.

``Never bother your head with thinking,'' advised
the Harvester with an air of large wisdom. ``It is
unprofitable and very tiring. Any one can see that you are
too weary now. Don't dream of such a foolish thing as
thinking. Don't worry over motives and obligations.
Say to yourself, `I'll enter this partnership and if it brings
me anything good, I'm that much ahead. If it fails, I
have lost nothing.'  That's the way to look at it.''

Then before she could answer he continued: ``Now
I want all the mullein bloom I can get. You'll see the
yellow heads everywhere. Strip the petals and bring
them here, and I'll come for them every day. They
must go on the trays as fresh as possible. On your part,
we will make out the order now.''

He took a pencil and notebook from his pocket.

``You want drawing pencils and brushes; how many,
what make and size?''

The Girl hesitated for a moment as if struggling to
decide what to do; then she named the articles.

``And paper?''

He wrote that down, and asked if there was more.

``I think,'' he said, ``that I can get this order filled
in Onabasha. The art stores should keep these things.
And shouldn't you have water-colour paper and some
paint?''

Then there was a flash across the white face.

``Oh if I only could!'' she cried. ``All my life I have
been crazy for a box of colour, but I never could afford
it, and of course, I can't now. But if this splendid
plan works, and I can earn what I owe, then maybe
I can.''

``Well this `splendid plan' is going to `work,' don't
you bother about that,'' said the Harvester. ``It has
begun working right now. Don't worry a minute.
After things have gone wrong for a certain length of
time, they always veer and go right a while as
compensation. Don't think of anything save that you are
at the turning. Since it is all settled that we are to be
partners, would you name me the figures of the debt
that is worrying you? Don't, if you mind. I just
thought perhaps we could get along better if I knew.
Is it----say five hundred dollars?''

``Oh dear no!'' cried the Girl in a panic. ``I never
could face that! It is not quite one hundred, and that
seems big as a mountain to me.''

``Forget it!'' he cried. ``The ginseng will pay more
than half; that I know. I can bring you the cash in a
little over a week.''

She started to speak, hesitated, and at last turned to him.

``Would you mind,'' she said, ``if I asked you to keep
it until I can find a way to go to town? It's too far to
walk and I don't know how to send it. Would I dare
put it in a letter?''

``Never!'' said the Harvester. ``You want a draft.
That money will be too precious to run any risks. I'll
bring it to you and you can write a note and explain
to whom you want it paid, and I'll take it to the bank
for you and get your draft. Then you can write a
letter, and half your worry will be over safely.''

``It must be done in a sure way,'' said the Girl. ``If
I knew I had the money to pay that much on what I
owe, and then lost it, I simply could not endure it. I
would lie down and give up as Aunt Molly has.''

``Forget that too!'' said the Harvester. ``Wipe
out all the past that has pain in it. The future is going
to be beautifully bright. That little bird on the bush
there just told me so, and you are always safe when you
trust the feathered folk. If you are going to live in the
country any length of time, you must know them, and
they will become a great comfort. Are you planning
to be here long?''

``I have no plans. After what I saw Chicago do to my
mother I would rather finish life in the open than return
to the city. It is horrible here, but at least I'm not
hungry, and not afraid----all the time.''

``Gracious Heaven!'' cried the Harvester. ``Do you
mean to say that you are afraid any part of the time?
Would you kindly tell me of whom, and why?''

``You should know without being told that when a
woman born and reared in a city, and all her life confined
there, steps into the woods for the first time, she's bound
to be afraid. The last few weeks constitute my entire
experience with the country, and I'm in mortal fear
that snakes will drop from trees and bushes or spring
from the ground. Some places I think I'm sinking,
and whenever a bush catches my skirts it seems as if
something dreadful is reaching up for me; there is a
possibility of horror lurking behind every tree and----''

``Stop!'' cried the Harvester. ``I can't endure it! Do
you mean to tell me that you are afraid here and now?''

She met his eyes squarely.

``Yes,'' she said. ``It almost makes me ill to sit on
this log without taking a stick and poking all around
it first. Every minute I think something is going to
strike me in the back or drop on my head.''

The Harvester grew very white beneath the tan,
and that developed a nice, sickly green complexion for
him.

``Am I part of your tortures?'' he asked tersely.

``Why shouldn't you be?'' she answered. ``What do
I know of you or your motives or why you are here?''

``I have had no experience with the atmosphere that
breeds such an attitude in a girl.''

``That is a thing for which to thank Heaven. Undoubtedly
it is gracious to you. My life has been different.''

``Yet in mortal terror of the woods, and probably
equal fear of me, you are here and asking for work that
will keep you here.''

``I would go through fire and flood for the money I
owe. After that debt is paid----''

She threw out her hands in a hopeless gesture. The
Harvester drew forth a roll of bills and tossed them
into her lap.

``For the love of mercy take what you need and pay
it,'' he said. ``Then get a floor under your feet, and try,
I beg of you, try to force yourself to have confidence
in me, until I do something that gives you the least
reason for distrusting me.''

She picked up the money and gave it a contemptuous
whirl that landed it at his feet.

``What greater cause of distrust could I have by any
possibility than just that?'' she asked.

The Harvester arose hastily, and taking several steps,
he stood with folded arms, his back turned. The Girl
sat watching him with wide eyes, the dull blue plain
in their dusky depths. When he did not speak, she
grew restless. At last she slowly arose and circling
him looked into his face. It was convulsed with a
struggle in which love and patience fought for supremacy
over honest anger. As he saw her so close, his
lips drew apart, and his breath came deeply, but he did
not speak. He merely stood and looked at her, and
looked; and she gazed at him as if fascinated, but
uncomprehending.

``Ruth!''

The call came roaring up the hill. The Girl shivered
and became paler.

``Is that your uncle?'' asked the Harvester.

She nodded.

``Will you come to-morrow for your drawing materials?''

``Yes.''

``Will you try to believe that there is absolutely
nothing, either underfoot or overhead, that will harm
you?''

``Yes.''

``Will you try to think that I am not a menace to
public safety, and that I would do much to help you,
merely because I would be glad to be of service?''

``Yes.''

``Will you try to cultivate the idea that there is nothing
in all this world that would hurt you purposely?''

``Ruth!'' came a splitting scream in gruff man-tones,
keyed in deep anger.

``That SOUNDS like it!'' said the Girl, and catching up
her skirts she ran through the woods, taking a different
route toward the house.

The Harvester sat on the log and tried to think; but
there are times when the numbed brain refuses to work,
so he really sat and suffered. Belshazzar whimpered
and licked his hands, and at last the man arose and
went with the dog to the wagon. As they came through
Onabasha, Betsy turned at the hospital corner, but the
Harvester pulled her around and drove toward the
country. Not until they crossed the railroad did he
lift his head and then he drew a deep breath as if starved
for pure air and spoke. ``Not to-day Betsy! I can't
face my friends just now. Someway I am making an
awful fist of things. Everything I do is wrong. She
no more trusts me than you would a rattlesnake,
Belshazzar; and from all appearance she takes me to be
almost as deadly. What must have been her experiences
in life to ingrain fear and distrust in her soul at that
rate? I always knew I was not handsome, but I never
before regarded my appearance as alarming. And I
`fixed up,' too!''

The Harvester grinned a queer little twist of a grin
that pulled and distorted his strained face. ``Might
as well have gone with a week's beard, a soiled shirt,
and a leer! And I've always been as decent as I knew!
What's the reward for clean living anyway, if the girl
you love strikes you like that?''

Belshazzar reached across and kissed him. The
Harvester put his arm around the dog. In the man's
disappointment and heart hunger he leaned his head
against the beast and said, ``I've always got you to love
and protect me, anyway, Belshazzar. Maybe the man
who said a dog was a man's best friend was right. You
always trusted me, didn't you Bel? And you never
regretted it but once, and that wasn't my fault. I
never did it! If I did, I'm getting good and well paid
for it. I'd rather be kicked until all the ribs of one side
are broken, Bel, than to swallow the dose she just handed
me. I tell you it was bitter, lad! What am I going to
do? Can't you help me, Bel?''

Belshazzar quivered in anxiety to offer the comfort
he could not speak.

``Of course you are right! You always are, Bel!''
said the Harvester. ``I know what you are trying to
tell me. Sure enough, she didn't have any dream.
I am afraid she had the bitterest reality. She hasn't
been loving a vision of me, working and searching for
me, and I don't mean to her what she does to me. Of
course I see that I must be patient and bide my time.
If there is anything in `like begetting like' she is bound
to care for me some day, for I love her past all expression,
and for all she feels I might as well save my breath.
But she has got to awake some day, Bel. She can make
up her mind to that. She can't see `why.'  Over and
over! I wonder what she would think if I'd up and tell
her `why' with no frills. She will drive me to it some
day, then probably the shock will finish her. I wonder
if Doc was only fooling or if he really would do what
he said. It might wake her up, anyway, but I'm dubious
as to the result. How Uncle Henry can roar! He
sounded like a fog horn. I'd love to try my muscle
on a man like that. No wonder she is afraid of him,
if she is of me. Afraid! Well of all things I ever did
expect, Belshazzar, that is the limit.''

CHAPTER X

THE CHIME OF THE BLUE BELLS

The Harvester finished his evening work and went
to examine the cocoons. Many of the moths
had emerged and flown, but the luna cases remained
in the bottom of the box. As he stood looking
at them one moved and he smiled.

``I'd give something if you would come out and be
ready to work on by to-morrow afternoon,'' he said.
``Possibly you would so interest her that she would
forget her fear of me. I'd like mighty well to take
you along, because she might care for you, and I do need
the pattern for my candlestick. Believe I'll lay you in
a warmer place.''

The first thing the next morning the Harvester looked
and found the open cocoon and the wet moth clinging
by its feet to a twig he had placed for it.

``Luck is with me!'' he exulted. ``I'll carry you to
her and be mighty careful what I say, and maybe she will
forget about the fear.''

All the forenoon he cut and spread boneset, saffron,
and hemlock on the trays to dry. At noon he put on a
fresh outfit, ate a hasty lunch, and drove to Onabasha.
He carried the moth in a box, and as he started he picked
up a rake. He went to an art store and bought the
pencils and paper she had ordered. He wanted to purchase
everything he saw for her, but he was fast learning
a lesson of deep caution. If he took more than she
ordered, she would worry over paying, and if he refused
to accept money, she would put that everlasting ``why''
at him again. The water-colour paper and paint he could
not forego. He could make a desire to have the moth
coloured explain those, he thought.

Then he went to a furniture store and bought several
articles, and forgetting his law against haste, he drove
Betsy full speed to the river. He was rather heavily
ladened as he went up the bank, and it was only one
o'clock. There was an hour. He rolled away the log,
raked together and removed the leaves to the ground.
He tramped the earth level and spread a large cheap porch
rug. On this he opened and placed a little folding table
and chair. On the table he spread the pencils, paper,
colour box and brushes, and went to the river to fill
the water cup. Then he sat on the log he had rolled
to one side and waited. After two hours he arose and
crept as close the house as he could through the woods,
but he could not secure a glimpse of the Girl. He
went back and waited an hour more, and then undid
his work and removed it. When he came to the moth
his face was very grim as he lifted the twig and helped
the beautiful creature to climb on a limb. ``You'll
be ready to fly in a few hours,'' he said. ``If I keep you
in a box you will ruin your wings and be no suitable
subject, and put you in a cyanide jar I will not. I am
hurt too badly myself. I wonder if what Doc said was
the right way! It's certainly a temptation.''

Then he went home; and again Betsy veered at the
hospital, and once more the Harvester explained to her
that he did not want to see the doctor. That evening
and the following forenoon were difficult, but the Harvester
lived through them, and in the afternoon went back
to the woods, spread his rug, and set up the table. Only
one streak of luck brightened the gloom in his heart.
A yellow emperor had emerged in the night, and now
occupied the place of yesterday's luna. She never need
know it was not the one he wanted, and it would make
an excuse for the colour box.

He was watching intently and saw her coming a long
way off. He noticed that she looked neither right nor
left, but came straight as if walking a bridge. As she
reached the place she glanced hastily around and then
at him. The Harvester forgave her everything as he
saw the look of relief with which she stepped upon the
carpet. Then she turned to him.

``I won't have to ask `why' this time,'' she said. ``I
know that you did it because I was baby enough to tell
what a coward I am. I'm sure you can't afford it, and
I know you shouldn't have done it, but oh, what a
comfort! If you will promise never to do any such
expensive, foolish, kind thing again, I'll say thank you
this time. I couldn't come yesterday, because Aunt Molly
was worse and Uncle Henry was at home all day.''

``I supposed it was something like that,'' said the
Harvester.

She advanced and handed him the roll of bills.

``I had a feeling you would be reckless,'' she said. ``I
saw it in your face, so I came back as soon as I could
steal away, and sure enough, there lay your money and
the books and everything. I hid them in the thicket,
so they will be all right. I've almost prayed it wouldn't
rain. I didn't dare carry them to the house. Please
take the money. I haven't time to argue about it or
strength, but of course I can't possibly use it unless
I earn it. I'm so anxious to see the pencils and
paper.''

The Harvester thrust the money into his pocket. The
Girl went to the table, opened and spread the paper,
and took out the pencils.

``Is my subject in here?'' she touched the colour box.

``No, the other.''

``Is it alive? May I open it?''

``We will be very careful at first,'' said the Harvester.
``It only left its case in the night and may fly. When
the weather is so warm the wings develop rapidly. Perhaps
if I remove the lid----''

He took off the cover, exposing a big moth, its lovely,
pale yellow wings, flecked with heliotrope, outspread as
it clung to a twig in the box. The Girl leaned forward.

``What is it?'' she asked.

``One of the big night moths that emerge and fly a
few hours in June.''

``Is this what you want for your candlestick?''

``If I can't do better. There is one other I prefer,
but it may not come at a time that you can get it right.''

``What do you mean by `right'?''

``So that you can copy it before it wants to fly.''

``Why don't you chloroform and pin it until I am
ready?''

``I am not in the business of killing and impaling
exquisite creatures like that.''

``Do you mean that if I can't draw it when it is just
right you will let it go?''

``I do.''

``Why?''

``I told you why.''

``I know you said you were not in the business, but why
wouldn't you take only one you really wanted to use?''

``I would be afraid,'' replied the Harvester.

``Afraid? You!''

``I must have a mighty good reason before I kill,''
said the man. ``I cannot give life; I have no right to
take it away. I will let my statement stand. I am
afraid.''

``Of what please?''

``An indefinable something that follows me and makes
me suffer if I am wantonly cruel.''

``Is there any particular pose in which you want this
bird placed?''

``Allow me to present you to the yellow emperor,
known in the books as eacles imperialis,'' he said. ``I
want him as he clings naturally and life size.''

She took up a pencil.

``If you don't mind,'' said the Harvester, ``would you
draw on this other paper? I very much want the colour,
also, and you can use it on this. I brought a box along,
and I'll get you water. I had it all ready yesterday.''

``Did you have this same moth?''

``No, I had another.''

``Did you have the one you wanted most?''

``Yes----but it's no difference.''

``And you let it go because I was not here?''

``No. It went on account of exquisite beauty. If
kept in confinement it would struggle and break its
wings. You see, that one was a delicate green, where
this is yellow, plain pale blue green, with a lavender
rib here, and long curled trailers edged with pale yellow,
and eye spots rimmed with red and black.''

As the Harvester talked he indicated the points of
difference with a pencil he had picked up; now he laid it
down and retreated beyond the limits of the rug.

``I see,'' said the Girl. ``And this is colour?''

She touched the box.

``A few colours, rather,'' said the Harvester. ``I
selected enough to fill the box, with the help of the clerk
who sold them to me. If they are not right, I have
permission to return and exchange them for anything you
want.''

With eager fingers she opened the box, and bent over
it a face filled with interest.

``Oh how I've always wanted this! I scarcely can
wait to try it. I do hope I can have it for my very own.
Was it quite expensive?''

``No. Very cheap!'' said the Harvester. ``The paper
isn't worth mentioning. The little, empty tin box was
only a few cents, and the paints differ according to
colour. Some appear to be more than others. I was
surprised that the outfit was so inexpensive.''

A skeptical little smile wavered on the Girl's face as
she drew her slender fingers across the trays of bright
colour.

``If one dared accept your word, you really would be
a comfort,'' she said, as she resolutely closed the box,
pushed it away, and picked up a pencil.

``If you will take the trouble to inquire at the banks,
post office, express office, hospital or of any druggist
in Onabasha, you will find that my word is exactly as
good as my money, and taken quite as readily.''

``I didn't say I doubted you. I have no right to
do that until I feel you deceive me. What I said was
`dared accept,' which means I must not, because I have
no right. But you make one wonder what you would
do if you were coaxed and asked for things and led by
insinuations.''

``I can tell you that,'' said the Harvester. ``It would
depend altogether on who wanted anything of me and
what they asked. If you would undertake to coax and
insinuate, you never would get it done, because I'd see
what you needed and have it at hand before you had
time.''

The Girl looked at him wonderingly.

``Now don't spring your recurrent `why' on me,''
said the Harvester. ``I'll tell you `why' some of these
days. Just now answer me this question: Do you want
me to remain here or leave until you finish? Which
way would you be least afraid?''

``I am not at all afraid on the rug and with my work,''
she said. ``If you want to hunt ginseng go by all
means.''

``I don't want to hunt anything,'' said the Harvester.
``But if you are more comfortable with me away, I'll
be glad to go. I'll leave the dog with you.''

He gave a short whistle and Belshazzar came bounding
to him. The Harvester stepped to the Girl's side,
and dropping on one knee, he drew his hand across the
rug close to her skirts.

``Right here, Belshazzar,'' he said. ``Watch! You
are on guard, Bel.''

``Well of all names for a dog!'' exclaimed the Girl.
``Why did you select that?''

``My mother named my first dog Belshazzar, and
taught me why; so each of the three I've owned since have
been christened the same. It means `to protect' and
that is the office all of them perform; this one especially
has filled it admirably. Once I failed him, but
he never has gone back on me. You see he is not a
particle afraid of me. Every step I take, he is at my
heels.''

``So was Bill Sikes' dog, if I remember.''

The Harvester laughed.

``Bel,'' he said, ``if you could speak you'd say that was
an ugly one, wouldn't you?''

The dog sprang up and kissed the face of the man
and rubbed a loving head against his breast.

``Thank you!'' said the Harvester. ``Now lie down
and protect this woman as carefully as you ever watched
in your life. And incidentally, Bel, tell her that she
can't exterminate me more than once a day, and the
performance is accomplished for the present. I refuse
to be a willing sacrifice. `So was Bill Sikes' dog!'  What
do you think of that, Bel?''

The Harvester arose and turned to go.

``What if this thing attempts to fly?'' she asked.

``Your pardon,'' said the Harvester. ``If the emperor
moves, slide the lid over the box a few seconds, until he
settles and clings quietly again, and then slowly draw it
away. If you are careful not to jar the table heavily
he will not go for hours yet.''

Again he turned.

``If there is no danger, why do you leave the dog?''

``For company,'' said the Harvester. ``I thought
you would prefer an animal you are not afraid of to a
man you are. But let me tell you there is no necessity
for either. I know a woman who goes alone and unafraid
through every foot of woods in this part of the
country. She has climbed, crept, and waded, and she
tells me she never saw but two venomous snakes this
side of Michigan. Nothing ever dropped on her or
sprang at her. She feels as secure in the woods as she
does at home.''

``Isn't she afraid of snakes?''

``She dislikes snakes, but she is not afraid or she would
not risk encountering them daily.''

``Do you ever find any?''

``Harmless little ones, often. That is, Bel does. He
is always nosing for them, because he understands that
I work in the earth. I think I have encountered three
dangerous ones in my life. I will guarantee you will
not find one in these woods. They are too open and
too much cleared.''

``Then why leave the dog?''

``I thought,'' said the Harvester patiently, ``that your
uncle might have turned in some of his cattle, or if pigs
came here the dog could chase them away.''

She looked at him with utter panic in her face.

``I am far more afraid of a cow than a snake!'' she
cried. ``It is so much bigger!''

``How did you ever come into these woods alone far
enough to find the ginseng?'' asked the Harvester.
``Answer me that!''

``I wore Uncle Henry's top boots and carried a rake,
and I suffered tortures,'' she replied.

``But you hunted until you found what you wanted,
and came again to keep watch on it?''

``I was driven--simply forced. There's no use to
discuss it!''

``Well thank the Lord for one thing,'' said the
Harvester. ``You didn't appear half so terrified at the sight
of me as you did at the mere mention of a cow. I have
risen inestimably in my own self-respect. Belshazzar,
you may pursue the elusive chipmunk. I am going to
guard this woman myself, and please, kind fates, send
a ferocious cow this way, in order that I may prove my
valour.''

The Girl's face flushed slightly, and she could not
restrain a laugh. That was all the Harvester hoped for
and more. He went beyond the edge of the rug and
sat on the leaves under a tree. She bent over her work
and only bird and insect notes and occasionally Belshazzar's
excited bark broke the silence. The Harvester
stretched on the ground, his eyes feasting on the Girl.
Intensely he watched every movement. If a squirrel
barked she gave a nervous start, so precipitate it seemed
as if it must hurt. If a windfall came rattling down
she appeared ready to fly in headlong terror in any
direction. At last she dropped her pencil and looked
at him helplessly.

``What is it?'' he asked.

``The silence and these awful crashes when one doesn't
know what is coming,'' she said.

``Will it bother you if I talk? Perhaps the sound
of my voice will help?''

``I am accustomed to working when people talk, and it
will be a comfort. I may be able to follow you, and that
will prevent me from thinking. There are dreadful things
in my mind when they are not driven out. Please talk!
Tell me about the herbs you gathered this morning.''

The Harvester gave the Girl one long look as she bent
over her work. He was vividly conscious of the graceful
curves of her little figure, the coil of dark, silky hair,
softly waving around her temples and neck, and when her
eyes turned in his direction he knew that it was only the
white, drawn face that restrained him. He was almost
forced to tell her how he loved and longed for her; about
the home he had prepared; of a thousand personal
interests. Instead, he took a firm grip and said casually,
``Foxglove harvest is over. This plant has to be taken
when the leaves are in second year growth and at bloom
time. I have stripped my mullein beds of both leaves
and flowers. I finished a week ago. Beyond lies a
stretch of Parnassus grass that made me think of you,
it was so white and delicate. I want you to see it. It
will be lovely in a few weeks more.''

``You never had seen me a week ago.''

``Oh hadn't I?'' said the Harvester. ``Well maybe
I dreamed about you then. I am a great dreamer.
Once I had a dream that may interest you some day,
after you've overcome your fear of me. Now this bed
of which I was speaking is a picture in September. You
must arrange to drive home with me and see it then.''

``For what do you sell foxglove and mullein?''

``Foxglove for heart trouble, and mullein for catarrh.
I get ten cents a pound for foxglove leaves and five for
mullein and from seventy-five to a dollar for flowers
of the latter, depending on how well I preserve the colour
in drying them. They must be sealed in bottles and
handled with extreme care.''

``Then if I wasn't too childish to be out picking them,
I could be earning seventy-five cents a pound for mullein
blooms?''

``Yes,'' said the Harvester, ``but until you learned the
trick of stripping them rapidly you scarcely could gather
what would weigh two pounds a day, when dried. Not
to mention the fact that you would have to stand and
work mostly in hot sunshine, because mullein likes open
roads and fields and sunny hills. Now you can sit securely
in the shade, and in two hours you can make me a
pattern of that moth, for which I would pay a designer
of the arts and crafts shop five dollars, so of course you
shall have the same.''

``Oh no!'' she cried in swift panic. ``You were charged
too much! It isn't worth a dollar, even!''

``On the contrary the candlestick on which I shall
use it will be invaluable when I finish it, and five is
very little for the cream of my design. I paid just
right. You can earn the same for all you can do. If
you can embroider linen, they pay good prices for that,
too and wood carving, metal work, or leather things.
May I see how you are coming on?''

``Please do,'' she said.

The Harvester sprang up and looked over the Girl's
shoulder. He could not suppress an exclamation of
delight.

``Perfect!'' he cried. ``You can surpass their best
drafting at the shop! Your fortune is made. Any time
you want to go to Onabasha you can make enough to
pay your board, dress you well, and save something every
week. You must leave here as soon as you can manage
it. When can you go?''

``I don't know,'' she said wearily. ``I'd hate to tell
you how full of aches I am. I could not work much just
now, if I had the best opportunities in the world. I
must grow stronger.''

``You should not work at anything until you are well,''
he said. ``It is a crime against nature to drive yourself.
Why will you not allow----''

``Do you really think, with a little practice, I can
draw designs that will sell?''

The Harvester picked up the sheet. The work was
delicate and exact. He could see no way to improve it.

``You know it will sell,'' he said gently, ``because you
already have sold such work.''

``But not for the prices you offer.''

``The prices I name are going to be for NEW, ORIGINAL
DESIGNS. I've got a thousand in my head, that old
Mother Nature shows me in the woods and on the water
every day.''

``But those are yours; I can't take them.''

``You must,'' said the Harvester. ``I only see and
recognize studies; I can't materialize them, and until
they are drawn, no one can profit by them. In this
partnership we revolutionize decorative art. There
are actually birds besides fat robins and nondescript
swallows. The crane and heron do not monopolize the water.
Wild rose and golden-rod are not the only flowers. The
other day I was gathering lobelia. The seeds are used
in tonic preparations. It has an upright stem with
flowers scattered along it. In itself it is not much, but
close beside it always grows its cousin, tall bell-flower.
As the name indicates, the flowers are bell shape and
I can't begin to describe their grace, beauty, and delicate
blue colour. They ring my strongest call to worship.
My work keeps me in the woods so much I remain
there for my religion also. Whenever I find these
flowers I always pause for a little service of my own
that begins by reciting these lines:

     `` 'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth
          And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
     Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
          A call to prayer.''

``Beautiful!'' said the Girl.

``It's mighty convenient,'' explained the Harvester.
``By my method, you see, you don't have to wait for
your day and hour of worship. Anywhere the blue bell
rings its call it is Sunday in the woods and in your heart.
After I recite that, I pray my prayer.''

``Go on!'' said the Girl. ``This is no place to stop.''

``It is always one and the same prayer, and there are
only two lines of it,'' said the Harvester. ``It runs this
way----  Let me take your pencil and I will write it
for you.''

He bent over her shoulder, and traced these lines on
a scrap of the wrapping paper:

               ``Almighty Evolver of the Universe:
          Help me to keep my soul and body clean,
     And at all times to do unto others as I would be done by.
                         Amen.''

The Girl took the slip and sat studying it; then she
raised her eyes to his face curiously, but with a tinge of
awe in them.

``I can see you standing over a blue, bell-shaped
flower reciting those exquisite lines and praying this
wonderful prayer,'' she said. ``Yesterday you allowed
the moth you were willing to pay five dollars for a drawing
of, to go, because you wouldn't risk breaking its wings.
Why you are more like a woman!''

A red stream crimsoned the Harvester's face.

``Well heretofore I have been considered strictly
masculine,'' he said. ``To appreciate beauty or to try to
be just commonly decent is not exclusively feminine.
You must remember there are painters, poets, musicians,
workers in art along almost any line you could
mention, and no one calls them feminine, but there is
one good thing if I am. You need no longer fear me.
If you should see me, muck covered, grubbing in the
earth or on a raft washing roots in the lake, you would
not consider me like a woman.''

``Would it be any discredit if I did? I think not.
I merely meant that most men would not see or hear
the blue bell at all----and as for the poem and prayer!
If the woods make a man with such fibre in his soul,
I must learn them if they half kill me.''

``You harp on death. Try to forget the word.''

``I have faced it for months, and seen it do its grinding
worst very recently to the only thing on earth I loved or
that loved me. I have no desire to forget! Tell me
more about the plants.''

``Forgive me,'' said the Harvester gently. ``Just
now I am collecting catnip for the infant and nervous
people, hoarhound for colds and dyspepsia, boneset heads
and flowers for the same purpose. There is a heavy head
of white bloom with wonderful lacy leaves, called yarrow.
I take the entire plant for a tonic and blessed thistle
leaves and flowers for the same purpose.''

``That must be what I need,'' interrupted the Girl.
``Half the time I believe I have a little fever, but I
couldn't have dyspepsia, because I never want anything
to eat; perhaps the tonic would make me hungry.''

``Promise me you will tell that to the doctor who
comes to see your aunt, and take what he gives you.''

``No doctor comes to see my aunt. She is merely
playing lazy to get out of work. There is nothing the
matter with her.''

``Then why----''

``My uncle says that. Really, she could not stand and
walk across a room alone. She is simply worn out.''

``I shall report the case,'' said the Harvester instantly.

``You better not!'' said the Girl. ``There must be a
mistake about you knowing my uncle. Tell me more
of the flowers.''

The Harvester drew a deep breath and continued:

``These I just have named I take at bloom time;
next month come purple thorn apple, jimson weed, and
hemlock.''

``Isn't that poison?''

``Half the stuff I handle is.''

``Aren't you afraid?''

``Terribly,'' said the Harvester in laughing voice.
``But I want the money, the sick folk need the medicine,
and I drink water.''

The Girl laughed also.

``Look here!'' said the Harvester. ``Why not tell
me just as closely as you can about your aunt, and
let me fix something for her; or if you are afraid to
trust me, let me have my friend of whom I spoke yesterday.''

``Perhaps I am not so much afraid as I was,'' said
the Girl. ``I wish I could! How could I explain where
I got it and I wonder if she would take it.''

``Give it to her without any explanation,'' said the
Harvester. ``Tell her it will make her stronger and she
must use it. Tell me exactly how she is, and I will fix
up some harmless remedies that may help, and can do
no harm.''

``She simply has been neglected, overworked, and
abused until she has lain down, turned her face to the
wall, and given up hope. I think it is too late. I
think the end will come soon. But I wish you would
try. I'll gladly pay----''

``Don't!'' said the Harvester. ``Not for things that
grow in the woods and that I prepare. Don't think of
money every minute.''

``I must,'' she said with forced restraint. ``It is the
price of life. Without it one suffers----horribly----
as I know. What other plants do you gather?''

``Saffron,'' answered the Harvester. ``A beautiful
thing! You must see it. Tall, round stems, lacy, delicate
leaves, big heads of bright yellow bloom, touched
with colour so dark it appears black--one of the loveliest
plants that grows. You should see my big bed of it in
a week or two more. It makes a picture.''

The words recalled him to the Girl. He turned to
study her. He forgot his commission and chafed at
conventions that prevented his doing what he saw was
required so urgently. Fearing she would notice, he
gazed away through the forest and tried to think, to
plan.

``You are not making noise enough,'' she said.

So absorbed was the Harvester he scarcely heard her.
In an attempt to obey he began to whistle softly. A
tiny goldfinch in a nest of thistle down and plant fibre
in the branching of a bush ten feet above him stuck her
head over the brim and inquired, ``P'tseet?''  ``Pt'see!''
answer the Harvester. That began the duet. Before
the question had been asked and answered a half dozen
times a catbird intruded its voice and hearing a reply
came through the bushes to investigate. A wren followed
and became very saucy. From----one could not see
where, came a vireo, and almost at the same time a
chewink had something to say.

Instantly the Harvester answered. Then a blue jay
came chattering to ascertain what all the fuss was about,
and the Harvester carried on a conversation that called
up the remainder of the feathered tribe. A brilliant
cardinal came tearing through the thicket, his beady
black eyes snapping, and demanded to know if
any one were harming his mate, brooding under a
wild grape leaf in a scrub elm on the river embankment.
A brown thrush silently slipped like a snake between
shrubs and trees, and catching the universal excitement,
began to flirt his tail and utter a weird, whistling
cry.

With one eye on the bird, and the other on the Girl
sitting in amazed silence, the Harvester began working
for effect. He lay quietly, but in turn he answered a
dozen birds so accurately they thought their mates were
calling, and closer and closer they came. An oriole in
orange and black heard his challenge, and flew up the
river bank, answering at steady intervals for quite a
time before it was visible, and in resorting to the last
notes he could think of a quail whistled ``Bob White''
and a shitepoke, skulking along the river bank, stopped
and cried, ``Cowk, cowk!''

At his limit of calls the Harvester changed his notes
and whistled and cried bits of bird talk in tone with
every mellow accent and inflection he could manage.
Gradually the excitement subsided, the birds flew and
tilted closer, turned their sleek heads, peered with bright
eyes, and ventured on and on until the very bravest,
the wren and the jay, were almost in touch. Then,
tired of hunting, Belshazzar came racing and the little
feathered people scattered in precipitate flight.

``How do you like that kind of a noise?'' inquired the
Harvester.

The Girl drew a deep breath.

``Of course you know that was the most exquisite
sight I ever saw,'' she said. ``I never shall forget it.
I did not think there were that many different birds in
the whole world. Of all the gaudy colours! And they
came so close you could have reached out and touched
them.''

``Yes,'' said the Harvester calmly. ``Birds are never
afraid of me. At Medicine Woods, when I call them
like that, many, most of them, in fact, eat from my
hand. If you ever have looked at me enough to notice
bulgy pockets, they are full of wheat. These birds
are strangers, but I'll wager you that in a week I can
make them take food from me. Of course, my own
birds know me, because they are around every day.
It is much easier to tame them in winter, when the
snow has fallen and food is scarce, but it only takes
a little while to win a bird's confidence at any
season.''

``Birds don't know what there is to be afraid of,''
she said.

``Your pardon,'' said the Harvester, ``but I am familiar
with them, and that is not correct. They have more
to fear than human beings. No one is going to kill you
merely to see if he can shoot straight enough to hit.
Your life is not in danger because you have magnificent
hair that some woman would like for an ornament.
You will not be stricken out in a flash because there are
a few bits of meat on your frame some one wants to eat.
No one will set a seductive trap for you, and, if you are
tempted to enter it, shut you from freedom and natural
diet, in a cage so small you can't turn around without
touching bars. You are in a secure and free position
compared with the birds. I also have observed that
they know guns, many forms of traps, and all of them
decide by the mere manner of a man's passing
through the woods whether he is a friend or an
enemy. Birds know more than many people realize.
They do not always correctly estimate gun range, they
are foolishly venturesome at times when they want
food, but they know many more things than most
people give them credit for understanding. The greatest
trouble with the birds is they are too willing
to trust us and be friendly, so they are often
deceived.''

``That sounds as if you were right,'' said the Girl.

``I am of the woods, so I know I am,'' answered the
Harvester.

``Will you look at this now?''

He examined the drawing closely.

``Where did you learn?'' he inquired.

``My mother. She was educated to her finger tips.
She drew, painted, played beautifully, sang well, and she
had read almost all the best books. Besides what I learned
at high school she taught me all I know. Her embroidery
always brought higher prices than mine, try as I
might. I never saw any one else make such a dainty,
accurate little stitch as she could.''

``If this is not perfect, I don't know how to criticise
it. I can and will use it in my work. But I have one
luna cocoon remaining and I would give ten dollars for
such a drawing of the moth before it flies. It may open
to-night or not for several days. If your aunt should
be worse and you cannot come to-morrow and the moth
emerges, is there any way in which I could send it to
you?''

``What could I do with it?''

``I thought perhaps you could take a piece of paper
and the pencils with you, and secure an outline
in your room. It need not be worked up with
all the detail in this. Merely a skeleton sketch would
do. Could I leave it at the house or send it with
some one?''

``No! Oh no!'' she cried. ``Leave it here. Put it
in a box in the bushes where I hid the books.
What are you going to do with these things?''

``Hide them in the thicket and scatter leaves over
them.''

``What if it rains?''

``I have thought of that. I brought a few yards of
oilcloth to-day and they will be safe and dry if it pours.''

``Good!'' she said. ``Then if the moth comes out
you bring it, and if I am not here, put it under the cloth
and I will run up some time in the afternoon. But
if I were you, I would not spread the rug until you
know if I can remain. I have to steal every minute I
am away, and any day uncle takes a notion to stay at
home I dare not come.''

``Try to come to-morrow. I am going to bring some
medicine for your aunt.''

``Put it under the cloth if I am not here; but I will
come if I can. I must go now; I have been away far
too long.''

The Harvester picked up one of the drug pamphlets,
laid the drawing inside it, and placed it with his other
books. Then he drew out his pocket book and laid a
five-dollar bill on the table and began folding up the
chair and putting away the things. The Girl looked at
the money with eager eyes.

``Is that honestly what you would pay at the arts
and crafts place?''

``It is the customary price for my patterns.''

``And are you sure this is as good?''

``I can bring you some I have paid that for, and let
you see for yourself that it is better.''

``I wish you would!'' she cried eagerly. ``I need that
money, and I would like to have it dearly, if I really have
earned it, but I can't touch it if I have not.''

``Won't you accept my word?''

``No. I will see the other drawings first, and if I
think mine are as good, I will be glad to take the money
to-morrow.''

``What if you can't come?''

``Put them under the oilcloth. I watch all the time
and I think Uncle Henry has trained even the boys so
they don't play in the river on his land. I never see a
soul here; the woods, house, and everything is desolate
until he comes home and then it is like----'' she paused.

``I'll say it for you,'' said the Harvester promptly.
``Then it is like hell.''

``At its worst,'' supplemented the Girl. Taking pencils
and a sheet of paper she went swiftly through the woods.
Before she left the shelter of the trees, the Harvester
saw her busy her hands with the front of her dress, and
he knew that she was concealing the drawing material.
The colour box was left, and he said things as he put
it with the chair and table, covered them with the rug
and oilcloth, and heaped on a layer of leaves.

Then he drove to the city and Betsy turned at the
hospital corner with no interference. He could face his
friend that day. Despite all discouragements he felt
reassured. He was progressing. Means of communication
had been established. If she did not come,
he could leave a note and tell her if the moth had not
emerged and how sorry he was to have missed seeing
her.

``Hello, lover!'' cried Doctor Carey as the Harvester
entered the office. ``Are you married yet?''

``No. But I'm going to be,'' said the Harvester with
confidence.

``Have you asked her?''

``No. We are getting acquainted. She is too close to
trouble, too ill, and too worried over a sick relative for
me to intrude myself; it would be brutal, but it's a
temptation. Doc, is there any way to compel a man to provide
medical care for his wife?''

``Can he afford it?''

``Amply. Anything! Worth thousands in land and
nobody knows what in money. It's Henry Jameson.''

``The meanest man I ever knew. If he has a wife it's
a marvel she has survived this long. Won't he provide
for her?''

``I suppose he thinks he has when she has a bed to lie
on and a roof to cover her. He won't supply food she
can eat and medicine. He says she is lazy.''

``What do you think?''

``I quote Miss Jameson. She says her aunt is slowly
dying from overwork and neglect.''

``David, doesn't it seem pretty good, when you say
`Miss Jameson'?''

``Loveliest sound on earth, except the remainder of it.''

``What's that?''

``Ruth!''

``Jove! That is a beautiful name. Ruth Langston.
It will go well, won't it?''

``Music that the birds, insects, Singing Water, the
trees, and the breeze can't ever equal. I'm holding on
with all my might, but it's tough, Doc. She's in such a
dreadful place and position, and she needs so much.
She is sick. Can't you give me a prescription for each
of them?''

``You just bet I can,'' said the doctor, ``if you can
engineer their taking them.''

``I suppose you'd hold their noses and pour stuff down
them.''

``I would if necessary.''

``Well, it is.''

``All right----I'll fix something, and you see that
they use it.''

``I can try,'' said the Harvester.

``Try! Pah! You aren't half a man!''

``That's a half more than being a woman, anyway.''

``She called you feminine, did she?'' cried the doctor,
dancing and laughing. ``She ought to see you harvesting
skunk cabbage and blue flag or when you are angry
enough.''

The doctor left the room and it was a half hour before
he returned.

``Try that on them according to directions,'' he said,
handing over a couple of bottles.

``Thank you!'' said the Harvester, ``I will!''

``That sounds manly enough.''

``Oh pother! It's not that I'm not a man, or a laggard
in love; but I'd like to know what you'd do to a girl
dumb with grief over the recent loss of her mother, who
was her only relative worth counting, sick from God
knows what exposure and privation, and now a dying
relative on her hands. What could you do?''

``I'd marry her and pick her out of it!''

``I wouldn't have her, if she'd leave a sick woman for
me!''

``I wouldn't either. She's got to stick it out until
her aunt grows better, and then I'll go out there and
show you how to court a girl.''

``I guess not! You keep the girl you did court, courted,
and you'll have your hands full. How does that appear
to you?''

The Harvester opened the pamphlet he carried and
held up the drawing of the moth.

The doctor turned to the light.

``Good work!'' he cried. ``Did she do that?''

``She did. In a little over an hour.''

``Fine! She should have a chance.''

``She is going to. She is going to have all the
opportunity that is coming to her.''

``Good for you, David! Any time I can help!''

The Harvester replaced the sketch and went to the
wagon; but he left Belshazzar in charge, and visited the
largest dry goods store in Onabasha, where he held a
conference with the floor walker. When he came out he
carried a heaping load of boxes of every size and shape,
with a label on each. He drove to Medicine Woods
singing and whistling.

``She didn't want me to go, Belshazzar!'' he chuckled
to the dog. ``She was more afraid of a cow than she
was of me. I made some headway to-day, old boy.
She doesn't seem to have a ray of an idea what I am
there for, but she is going to trust me soon now; that is
written in the books. Oh I hope she will be there to-
morrow, and the luna will be out. Got half a notion to
take the case and lay it in the warmest place I can find.
But if it comes out and she isn't there, I'll be sorry.
Better trust to luck.''

The Harvester stabled Betsy, fed the stock, and visited
with the birds. After supper he took his purchases
and entered her room. He opened the drawers of the
chest he had made, and selecting the labelled boxes he
laid them in. But not a package did he open. Then
he arose and radiated conceit of himself.

``I'll wager she will like those,'' he commented proudly,
``because Kane promised me fairly that he would have the
right things put up for a girl the size of the clerk I selected
for him, and exactly what Ruth should have. That girl
was slenderer and not quite so tall, but he said everything
was made long on purpose. Now what else should I get?''

He turned to the dressing table and taking a notebook
from his pocket made this list:
     Rugs for bed and bath room.
     Mattresses, pillows and bedding,
     Dresses for all occasions.
     All kinds of shoes and overshoes.

``There are gloves, too!'' exclaimed the Harvester.
``She has to have some, but how am I going to know what
is right? Oh, but she needs shoes! High, low, slippers,
everything! I wonder what that clerk wears. I don't
believe shoes would be comfortable without being fitted,
or at least the proper size. I wonder what kind of dresses
she likes. I hope she's fond of white. A woman always
appears loveliest in that. Maybe I'd better buy what
I'm sure of and let her select the dresses. But I'd love
to have this room crammed with girl-fixings when she
comes. Doesn't seem as if she ever has had any little
luxuries. I can't miss it on anything a woman uses.
Let me think!''

Slowly he wrote again:
          Parasols.
          Fans.
          Veils.
          Hats.

``I never can get them! I think that will keep me busy
for a few days,'' said the Harvester as he closed the door
softly, and went to look at the pupae cases. Then he
carved on the vine of the candlestick for her dressing
table; with one arm around Belshazzar, re-read the story
of John Muir's dog, went into the lake, and to bed.
Just as he was becoming unconscious the beast lifted an
inquiring head and gazed at the man.

``More 'fraid of cow,'' the Harvester was muttering
in a sleepy chuckle.

CHAPTER XI

DEMONSTRATED COURTSHIP

When the Harvester saw the Girl coming toward
the woods, he spread the rug, opened and
placed the table and chair, laid out the colour
box, and another containing the last luna.

``Did the green one come out?'' she asked, touching
the box lightly.

``It did!'' said the Harvester proudly, as if he were
responsible for the performance. ``It is an omen! It
means that I am to have my long-coveted pattern for
my best candlestick. It also clearly indicates that
the gods of luck are with me for the day, and I
get my way about everything. There won't be the
least use in your asking `why' or interposing objections.
This is my clean sweep. I shall be fearfully
dictatorial and you must submit, because the fates
have pointed out that they favour me to-day, and
if you go contrary to their decrees you will have a
bad time.''

The Girl's smile was a little wan. She sank on a chair
and picked up a pencil.

``Lay that down!'' cried the Harvester. ``You haven't
had permission from the Dictator to begin drawing. You
are to sit and rest a long time.''

``Please may I speak?'' asked the Girl.

The Harvester grew foolishly happy. Was she really
going to play the game? Of course he had hoped, but
it was a hope without any foundation.

``You may,'' he said soberly.

``I am afraid that if you don't allow me to draw the
moth at once, I'll never get it done. I dislike to mention
it on your good day, but Aunt Molly is very restless. I
got a neighbour's little girl to watch her and call me if
I'm wanted. It's quite certain that I must go soon, so if
you would like the moth----''

``When luck is coming your way, never hurry it! You
always upset the bowl if you grow greedy and crowd.
If it is a gamble whether I get this moth, I'll take the
chance; but I won't change my foreordained programme
for this afternoon. First, you are to sit still ten minutes,
shut your eyes, and rest. I can't sing, but I can whistle,
and I'm going to entertain you so you won't feel alone.
Ready now!''

The Girl leaned her elbows on the table, closed her
eyes, and pressed her slender white hands over them.

``Please don't call the birds,'' she said. ``I can't rest
if you do. It was so exciting trying to see all of them
and guess what they were saying.''

``No,'' said the Harvester gently. ``This ten minutes
is for relaxation, you know. You ease every muscle,
sink limply on your chair, lean on the table, let go all
over, and don't think. Just listen to me. I assure you
it's going to be perfectly lovely.''

Watching intently he saw the strained muscles
relaxing at his suggestion and caught the smile over the
last words as he slid into a soft whistle. It was an
easy, slow, old-fashioned tune, carrying along gently,
with neither heights nor depths, just monotonous, sleepy,
soothing notes, that went on and on with a little ripple
of change at times, only to return to the theme, until at
last the Girl lifted her head.

``It's away past ten minutes,'' she said, ``but that was
a real rest. Truly, I am better prepared for work.''

``Broke the rule, too!'' said the Harvester. ``It was,
for me to say when time was up. Can't you allow me
to have my way for ten minutes?''

``I am so anxious to see and draw this moth,'' she
answered. ``And first of all you promised to bring the
drawings you have been using.''

``Now where does my programme come in?'' inquired
the Harvester. ``You are spoiling everything, and I
refuse to have my lucky day interfered with; therefore
we will ignore the suggestion until we arrive at the place
where it is proper. Next thing is refreshments.''

He arose and coming over cleared the table. Then
he spread on it a paper tray cloth with a gay border,
and going into the thicket brought out a box and a big
bucket containing a jug packed in ice. The Girl's eyes
widened. She reached down, caught up a piece, and
holding it to drip a second started to put it in her mouth.

``Drop that!'' commanded the Harvester. ``That's
a very unhealthful proceeding. Wait a minute.''

From one end of the box he produced a tin of wafers
and from the other a plate. Then he dug into the ice
and lifted several different varieties of chilled fruit. From
the jug he poured a combination that he made of the
juices of oranges, pineapples, and lemons. He set the
glass, rapidly frosting in the heat, and the fruit before
the Girl.

``Now!'' he said.

For one instant she stared at the table. Then she
looked at him and in the depths of her dark eyes was an
appeal he never forgot.

``I made that drink myself, so it's all right,'' he
assured her. ``There's a pretty stiff touch of pineapple
in it, and it cuts the cobwebs on a hot day. Please
try it!''

``I can't!'' cried the Girl with a half-sob. ``Think of
Aunt Molly!''

``Are you fond of her?''

``No. I never saw her until a few weeks ago. Since
then I've seen nothing save her poor, tired back. She lies
in a heap facing the wall. But if she could have things
like these, she needn't suffer. And if my mother could
have had them she would be living to-day. Oh Man,
I can't touch this.''

``I see,'' said the Harvester.

He reached over, picked up the glass, and poured its
contents into the jug. He repacked the fruit and closed
the wafer box. Then he made a trip to the thicket and
came out putting something into his pocket.

``Come on!'' he said. ``We are going to the house.''

She stared at him.

``I simply don't dare.''

``Then I will go alone,'' said the Harvester, picking
up the bucket and starting.

The Girl followed him.

``Uncle Henry may come any minute,'' she urged.

``Well if he comes and acts unpleasantly, he will get
what he richly deserves.''

``And he will make me pay for it afterward.''

``Oh no he won't!'' said the Harvester, ``because I'll
look out for that. This is my lucky day. He isn't going
to come.''

When he reached the back door he opened it and
stepped inside. Of all the barren places of crude,
disheartening ugliness the Harvester ever had seen, that was
the worst.

``I want a glass and a spoon,'' he said.

The Girl brought them.

``Where is she?''

``In the next room.''

At the sound of their voices a small girl came to the
kitchen door.

``How do you do?'' inquired the Harvester. ``Is Mrs.
Jameson asleep?''

``I don't know,'' answered the child. ``She just lies
there.''

The Harvester gave her the glass. ``Please fill that
with water,'' he said. Then he picked up the bucket and
went into the front room. When the child came with
the water he took a bottle from his pocket, filled the spoon,
and handed it to her.

``Hold that steadily,'' he said.

Then he slid his strong hands under the light frame and
turned the face of the faded little creature toward him.

``I am a Medicine Man, Mrs. Jameson,'' he said casually.
``I heard you were sick and I came to see if a
little of this stuff wouldn't brace you up. Open your
lips.''

He held out the spoon and the amazed woman swallowed
the contents before she realized what she was
doing. Then the Harvester ran a hand under her shoulders
and lifting her gently he tossed her pillow with
the other hand.

``You are a light little body, just like my mother,''
he commented. ``Now I have something else sick people
sometimes enjoy.''

He held the fruit juice to her lips as he slightly raised
her on the pillow. Her trembling fingers lifted and
closed around the sparkling glass.

``Oh it's cool!'' she gasped.

``It is,'' said the Harvester, ``and sour! I think you
can taste it. Try!''

She drank so greedily he drew away the glass and
urged caution, but the shaking fingers clung to him and
the wavering voice begged for more.

``In a minute,'' said the Harvester gently. But the
fevered woman would not wait. She drank the cooling
liquid until she could take no more. Then she watched
him fill a small pitcher and pack it in a part of the ice
and lay some fruit around it.

``Who, Ruth?'' she panted.

``A Medicine Man who heard about you.''

``What will Henry say?''

``He won't know,'' explained the Girl, smoothing the
hot forehead. ``I'll put it in the cupboard, and slip it
to you while he is out of the room. It will make you
strong and well.''

``I don't want to be strong and well and suffer it all
over again. I want to rest. Give me more of the cool
drink. Give me all I want, then I'll go to sleep.''

``It's wonderful,'' said the Girl. ``That's more than
I've heard her talk since I came. She is much stronger.
Please let her have it.''

The Harvester assented. He gave the child some of
the fruit, and told her to sit beside the bed and hold the
drink when it was asked for. She agreed to be very
careful and watchful. Then he picked up the bucket,
and followed by the Girl, returned to the woods.

``Now we have to begin all over again,'' he said, as
she seated herself at the table. ``Because of the walk in
the heat, this time the programme is a little different.''

He replaced the wafer box and opened it, filled the
glass, and heaped the cold fruit.

``Your aunt is going to have a refreshing sleep now,''
he said, ``and your mind can be free about her for an hour
or two. I am very sure your mother would not want you
deprived of anything because she missed it, so you are
to enjoy this, if you care for it. At least try a sample.''

The Girl lifted the glass to her lips with a trembling
hand.

``I'm like Aunt Molly,'' she said; ``I wish I could drink
all I could swallow, and then lie down and go to sleep
forever. I suppose this is what they have in Heaven.''

``No, it's what they drink all over earth at present,
but I have a conceit of my own brand. Some of it is
too strong of one fruit or of the other, and all too sweet
for health. This is compounded scientifically and it's
just right. If you are not accustomed to cold drinks,
go slowly.''

``You can't scare me,'' said the Girl; ``I'm going to
drink all I want.''

There was a note of excitement in the Harvester's
laugh.

``You must have some, too!''

``After a while,'' he said. ``I was thirsty when I made
it, so I don't care for any more now. Try the fruit and
those wafers. Of course they are not home made--
they are the best I could do at a bakery. Take time
enough to eat slowly. I'm going to tell you a tale while
you lunch, and it's about a Medicine Man named David
Langston. It's a very peculiar story, but it's quite
true. This man lives in the woods east of Onabasha,
accompanied by his dog, horse, cow, and chickens, and
a forest full of birds, flowers, and matchless trees. He
has lived there in this manner for six long years, and
every spring he and his dog have a seance and agree
whether he shall go on gathering medicinal herbs and
trying his hand at making medicine or go to the city
and live as other men. Always the dog chooses to remain
in the woods.

``Then every spring, on the day the first bluebird comes,
the dog also decides whether the man shall go on alone
or find a mate and bring her home for company. Each
year the dog regularly has decided that they live as
always. This spring, for some unforeseen reason, he
changed his mind, and compelled the man, according to
his vow in the beginning, to go courting. The man was
so very angry at the idea of having a woman in his home,
interfering with his work, disturbing his arrangements,
and perhaps wanting to spend more money than he could
afford, that he struck the dog for making that decision;
struck him for the very first time in his life----I believe
you'd like those apricots. Please try one.''

``Go on with the story,'' said the Girl, sipping
delicately but constantly at the frosty glass.

The Harvester arose and refilled it. Then he dropped
pieces of ice over the fruit.

``Where was I?'' he inquired casually.

``Where you struck Belshazzar, and it's no wonder,''
answered the Girl.

Without taking time to ponder that, the Harvester
continued:

``But that night the man had a wonderful, golden
dream. A beautiful girl came to him, and she was so
gracious and lovely that he was sufficiently punished
for striking his dog, because he fell unalterably in love
with her.''

``Meaning you?'' interrupted the Girl.

``Yes,'' said the Harvester, ``meaning me. I----if
you like----fell in love with the girl. She came so
alluringly, and I was so close to her that I saw her better
than I ever did any other girl, and I knew her for all time.
When she went, my heart was gone.''

``And you have lived without that important organ
ever since?''

``Without even the ghost of it! She took it with her.
Well, that dream was so real, that the next day I began
building over my house, making furniture, and planting
flowers for her; and every day, wherever I went, I watched
for her.''

``What nonsense!''

``I can't see it.''

``You won't find a girl you dreamed about in a
thousand years.''

``Wrong!'' cried the Harvester triumphantly. ``Saw
her in little less than three months, but she vanished and
it took some time and difficult work before I located
her again; but I've got her all solid now, and she doesn't
escape.''

``Is she a `lovely and gracious lady'?''

``She is!'' said the Harvester, with all his heart.

``Young and beautiful, of course!''

``Indeed yes!''

``Please fill this glass. I told you what I was going
to do.''

The Harvester refilled the glass and the Girl drained it.

``Now won't you set aside these things and allow me
to go to work?'' she asked. ``My call may come any
minute, and I'll never forgive myself if I waste time, and
don't draw your moth pattern for you.''

``It's against my principles to hurry, and besides, my
story isn't finished.''

``It is,'' said the Girl. ``She is young and lovely, gentle
and a lady, you have her `all solid,' and she can't `escape';
that's the end, of course. But if I were you, I wouldn't
have her until I gave her a chance to get away, and saw
whether she would if she could.''

``Oh I am not a jailer,'' said the Harvester. ``She shall
be free if I cannot make her love me; but I can, and I
will; I swear it.''

``You are not truly in earnest?''

``I am in deadly earnest.''

``Honestly, you dreamed about a girl, and found the
very one?''

``Most certainly, I did.''

``It sounds like the wildest romancing.''

``It is the veriest reality.''

``Well I hope you win her, and that she will be
everything you desire.''

``Thank you,'' said the Harvester. ``It's written in
the book of fate that I succeed. The very elements are
with me. The South Wind carried a message to her for
me. I am going to marry her, but you could make it
much easier for me if you would.''

``I! What could I do?'' cried the Girl.

``You could cease being afraid of me. You could
learn to trust me. You could try to like me, if you see
anything likeable about me. That would encourage me
so that I could tell you of my Dream Girl, and then you
could show me how to win her. A woman always knows
about those things better than a man. You could be the
greatest help in all the world to me, if only you would.''

``I couldn't possibly! I can't leave here. I have no
proper clothing to appear before another girl. She would
be shocked at my white face. That I could help you is
the most improbable dream you have had.''

``You must pardon me if I differ from you, and persist
in thinking that you can be of invaluable assistance to
me, if you will. But you can't influence my Dream
Girl, if you fear and distrust me yourself. Promise me
that you will help me that much, anyway.''

``I'll do all I can. I only want to make you see that
I am in no position to grant any favours, no matter how
much I owe you or how I'd like to. Is the candlestick
you are carving for her?''

``It is,'' said the Harvester. ``I am making a pair of
maple to stand on a dressing table I built for her. It is
unusually beautiful wood, I think, and I hope she will
be pleased with it.''

``Please take these things away and let me begin. This
is the only thing I can see that I can do for you, and the
moth will want to fly before I have finished.''

The Harvester cleared the table and placed the box,
while the Girl spread the paper and began work eagerly.

``I wonder if I knew there were such exquisite things
in all the world,'' she said. ``I scarcely think I did. I am
beginning to understand why you couldn't kill one. You
could make a chair or a table, and so you feel free to destroy
them; but it takes ages and Almighty wisdom to evolve
a creature like this, so you don't dare. I think no one else
would if they really knew. Please talk while I work.''

``Is there a particular subject you want discussed?''

``Anything but her. If I think too strongly of her, I
can't work so well.''

``Your ginseng is almost dry,'' said the Harvester.
``I think I can bring you the money in a few days.''

``So soon!'' she cried.

``It dries day and night in an even temperature, and
faster than you would believe. There's going to be
between seven and eight pounds of it, when I make up
what it has shrunk. It will go under the head of the
finest wild roots. I can get eight for it sure.''

``Oh what good news!'' cried the Girl. ``This is my
lucky day, too. And the little girl isn't coming, so Aunt
Molly must be asleep. Everything goes right! If only
Uncle Henry wouldn't come home!''

``Let me fill your glass,'' proffered the Harvester.

``Just half way, and set it where I can see it,'' said the
Girl. She worked with swift strokes and there was a
hint of colour in her face, as she looked at him. ``I
hope you won't think I'm greedy,'' she said, ``but truly,
that's the first thing I've had that I could taste in----I
can't remember when.''

``I'll bring a barrel to-morrow,'' offered the Harvester,
``and a big piece of ice wrapped in coffee sacking.''

``You mustn't think of such a thing! Ice is expensive
and so are fruits.''

``Ice costs me the time required to saw and pack it at
my home. I almost live on the fruit I raise. I confess
to a fondness for this drink. I have no other personal
expenses, unless you count in books, and a very few
clothes, such as I'm wearing; so I surely can afford all
the fruit juice I want.''

``For yourself, yes.''

``Also for a couple of women or I am a mighty poor
attempt at a man,'' said the Harvester. ``This is my
day, so you are not to talk, because it won't do any good.
Things go my way.''

``Please see what you think of this,'' she said.

The Harvester arose and bent over her.

``That will do finely,'' he answered. ``You can stop.
I don't require all those little details for carving, I just
want a good outline. It is finished. See here!''

He drew some folded papers from his pocket and laid
them before her.

``Those are what I have been working from,'' he said.

The Girl took them and studied each carefully.

``If those are worth five dollars to you,'' she said gently,
``why then I needn't hesitate to take as much for mine.
They are superior.''

``I should say so,'' laughed the Harvester as he took
up the drawing and laid down the money.

``If you would make it half that much I'd feel better
about it,'' she said.

``How could I?'' asked the Harvester. ``Your fingers
are well trained and extremely skilful. Because some
one has not been paying you enough for your work is
no reason why I should keep it up. From now on you
must have what others get. As soon as you can arrange
for work, I want to tell you about some designs I have
studied out from different things, show you the plants
and insects, and have you make some samples. I'll
send them to proper places, and see what experts say
about the ideas and drawing. Work in the woods is
healthful, with proper precautions; it's easy compared
with the exactions of being bound to sewing or embroidering
in the confinement of a room; it's vividly interesting
in the search for new subjects, changes of material, and
differing harmonious combinations; it's truly artistic; and
it brings the prices high grade stuff always does.''

``Almost you give me hope,'' said the Girl. ``Almost,
Man----almost! Since mother died, I haven't thought
or planned beyond paying for the medicine she took and
the shelter she lies in. Oh I didn't mean to say that----!''

She buried her face in her hands. The Harvester
suffered until he scarcely knew how to bear it.

``Please finish,'' he begged. ``You hadn't planned
beyond the debt, you were saying----''

The Girl lifted her tired, strained face.

``Give me a little more of that delicious drink,'' she
said. ``I am ravenous for it. It puts new life in me.
This and what you say bring a far away, misty vision
of a clean, bright, peaceful room somewhere, and work
one could love and live on in comfort; enough to give a
desire to finish life to its natural end. Oh Man, you
make me hope in spite of myself!''

`` `Praise God from whom all blessings flow;' '' quoted
the Harvester reverently. ``Now try one of these peaches.
It's juicy and cold. Get that room right in focus in your
brain, and nurture the idea. Its walls shall be bright
as sunshine, its floor creamy white, and it shall open
into a little garden, where only yellow flowers grow, and
the birds shall sing. The first ray of sun that peeps
over the hills of morning shall fall through its windows
across your bed, and you shall work only as you please,
after you've had months of play and rest; and it's coming
true the instant you can leave here. Dream of
it, make up your mind to it, because it's coming. I
have a little streak of second sight, and I see it on the
way.''

``You are talking wildly,'' said the Girl, ``else you are
a good genie trying to conjure a room for me.''

``This room I am talking of is ready whenever you want
to take possession,'' said the Harvester. ``Accept it as
a reality, because I tell you I know where it is, that it
is waiting, and you can earn your way into it with no
obligation to any one.''

The Girl stretched out her right hand and slowly turned
and opened and closed it. Then she glanced at the Harvester
with a weary smile.

``From somewhere I feel a glimmering of the spirit,
but Oh, dear Lord, the flesh is weak!'' she said.

``That's where nourishing foods, appetizing drinks,
plenty of pure, fresh air, and good water come in. Now
we have talked enough for one day, and worked too
much. The fruit and drink go with you. I will carry
it to the house, and you can hide it in your room. I am
going to put a bottle of tonic on top that the best surgeon
in the state gave me for you. Try to eat something
strengthening and then take a spoonful of this, and use
all the fruit you want. I'll bring more to-morrow and
put it here, with plenty of ice. Now suppose you let
the moth go free,'' he suggested to avoid objections.
``You must take my word for it, that it is perfectly harmless,
lacking either sting or bite, and hold your hand before
it, so that it will climb on your fingers. Then stand
where a ray of sunshine falls and in a few minutes it will
go out to live its life.''

The Girl hesitated a second as she studied the clean-cut,
interested face of the man; then she held out her hand,
and he urged the moth to climb on her fingers. She
stepped where a ray of strong light fell on the forest floor
and held the moth in it. The brightness also touched
her transparent hand and white face and the gleaming
black hair. The Harvester choked down a rising surge
of desire for her, and took a new grip on himself.

``Oh!'' she cried breathlessly, as the clinging feet
suddenly loosened and the luna slowly flew away among the
trees. She turned on the Harvester. ``You teach me
wonders!'' she cried. ``You give life different meanings.
You are not as other men.''

``If that be true, it is because I am of the woods. The
Almighty does not evolve all his wonders in animal,
bird, and flower form; He keeps some to work out in
the heart, if humanity only will go to His school, and allow
Him to have dominion. Come now, you must go. I
will come back and put away all the things and tomorrow
I will bring your ginseng money. Any time you
cannot come, if you want to tell me why, or if there is
anything I can do for you, put a line under the oilcloth.
I will carry the bucket.''

``I am so afraid,'' she said.

``I will only go to the edge of the woods. You can
see if there is any one at the house first. If not, you can
send the child away, and then I will carry the bucket to
the door for you, and it will furnish comfort for one night,
at least.''

They went to the cleared land and the Girl passed on
alone. Soon she reappeared and the Harvester saw the
child going down the road. He took up the bucket and
set it inside the door.

``Is there anything I can do for you?''

``Nothing but go, before you make trouble.''

``Will you hide that stuff and walk back as far as the
woods with me? There is something more I want to
say to you.''

The Girl staggered under the heavy load, and the man
turned his head and tried to pretend he did not see.
Presently she came out to him, and they returned to
the line of the woods. Just as they entered the shade
there was a flash before them, and on a twig a few rods
away a little gray bird alighted, while in precipitate
pursuit came a flaming wonder of red, and in a burst
of excited trills, broken whistles, and imploring gestures,
perched beside her.

The Harvester hastily drew the Girl behind some
bushes.

``Watch!'' he whispered. ``You are going to see a
sight so lovely and so rare it is vouchsafed to few mortals
ever to behold.''

``What are they fighting about?'' she whispered.

``You are witnessing a cardinal bird declare his love,''
breathed the Harvester.

``Do cardinals love different birds?''

``No. The female is gray, because if she is coloured
the same as the trees and branches and her nest, she
will have more chance to bring off her young in safety.
He is blood red, because he is the bravest, gayest, most
ardent lover of the whole woods,'' explained the Harvester.

The Girl leaned forward breathlessly watching and a
slow surge of colour crept into her cheeks. The red bird
twisted, whistled, rocked, tilted, and trilled, and the gray
sat demurely watching him, as if only half convinced
he really meant it. The gay lover began at the beginning
and said it all over again with more impassioned gestures
than before, and then he edged in touch and softly
stroked her wing with his beak. She appeared startled,
but did not fly. So again the fountain of half-whistled,
half-trilled notes bubbled with the acme of pleading
intonation and that time he leaned and softly kissed her
as she reached her bill for the caress. Then she fled in
headlong flight, while the streak of flame darted after her.
The Girl caught her breath in a swift spasm of surprise
and wonder. She turned to the Harvester.

``What was it you wanted to say to me?'' she asked
hurriedly.

The Harvester was not the man to miss the goods the
gods provided. Truly this was his lucky day. Unhesitatingly
he took the plunge.

``Precisely what he said to her. And if you observed
closely, you noticed that she didn't ask him `why.' ''

Before she could open her lips, he was gone, his swift
strides carrying him through the woods.

CHAPTER XII

``THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID''

The next day the Harvester lifted the oilcloth,
and picking up a folded note he read----

``Aunt Molly found rest in the night. She was
more comfortable than she had been since I have known
her. Close the end she whispered to me to thank you
if I ever saw you again. She will be buried to-morrow.
Past that, I dare not think.''

The Harvester sat on the log and studied the lines.
She would not come that day or the next. After a long
time he put the note in his pocket, wrote an answer
telling her he had been there, and would come on the
following day on the chance of her wanting anything
he could do, and the next he would bring the ginseng
money, so she must be sure to meet him.

Then he went back to the wagon, turned Betsy, and
drove around the Jameson land watching closely. There
were several vehicles in the barn lot, and a couple of
men sitting under the trees of the door yard. Faded
bedding hung on the line and women moved through
the rooms, but he could not see the Girl. Slowly he
drove on until he came to the first house, and there he
stopped and went in. He saw the child of the previous
day, and as she came forward her mother appeared in
the doorway.

The Harvester explained who he was and that he was
examining the woods in search of some almost extinct
herbs he needed in his business. Then he told of having
been at the adjoining farm the day before and mentioned
the sick woman. He added that later she had died.
He casually mentioned that a young woman there seemed
pale and ill and wondered if the neighbours would see
her through. He suggested that the place appeared as
if the owner did not take much interest, and when the
woman finished with Henry Jameson, he said how very
important it seemed to him that some good, kind-hearted
soul should go and mother the poor girl, and the woman
thought she was the very person. Without knowing
exactly how he did it, the Harvester left with her promise
to remain with the Girl the coming two nights. The
woman had her hands full of strange and delicious fruit
without understanding why it had been given her, or
why she had made those promises. She thought the
Harvester a remarkably fine young man to take such
interest in strangers and she told him he was welcome
to anything he could find on her place that would help
with his medicines.