The Harvester placed the key in the door and turned to Doctor Carey and
the nurse.
“I drugged her into unconsciousness before I left, but she may have
returned, at least partially. Miss Barnet, will you kindly see if she
is ready for the doctor? You needn't be in the least afraid. She has no
strength, even in delirium.”
He opened the door, his head averted, and the nurse hurried into the
room. The Girl on the bed was beginning to toss, moan, and mutter.
Skilful hands straightened her, arranged the covers, and the doctor was
called. In the living-room the Harvester paced in misery too deep for
consecutive thought. As consciousness returned, the Girl grew wilder,
and the nurse could not follow the doctor's directions and care for her.
Then Doctor Carey called the Harvester. He went in and sitting beside
the bed took the feverish, wildly beating hands in his strong, cool
ones, and began stroking them and talking.
“Easy, honey,” he murmured softly. “Lie quietly while I tell you. You
mustn't tire yourself. You are wasting strength you need to fight the
fever. I'll hold your hands tight, I'll stroke your head for you. Lie
quietly, dear, and Doctor Carey and his head nurse are going to make you
well in a little while. That's right! Let me do the moving; you lie and
rest. Only rest and rest, until all the pain is gone, and the strong
days come, and they are going to bring great joy, love, and peace, to my
dear, dear girl. Even the moans take strength. Try just to lie quietly
and rest. You can't hear Singing Water if you don't listen, Ruth.”
“She doesn't realize that it is you or know what you say, David,” said
Doctor Carey gently.
“I understand,” said the Harvester. “But if you will observe, you will
see that she is quiet when I stroke her head and hands, and if you
notice closely you will grant that she gets a word occasionally. If it
is the right one, it helps. She knows my voice and touch, and she is
less nervous and afraid with me. Watch a minute!”
The Harvester took both of the Girl's fluttering hands in one of his
and with long, light strokes gently brushed them, and then her head, and
face, and then her hands again, and in a low, monotonous, half sing-song
voice he crooned, “Rest, Ruth, rest! It is night now. The moon is
bridging Loon Lake, and the whip-poor-will is crying. Listen, dear,
don't you hear him crying? Still, Girl, still! Just as quiet! Lie so
quietly. The whip-poor-will is going to tell his mate he loves her,
loves her so dearly. He is going to tell her, when you listen. That's a
dear girl. Now he is beginning. He says, 'Come over the lake and listen
to the song I'm singing to you, my mate, my mate, my dear, dear mate,'
and the big night moths are flying; and the katydids are crying,
positive and sure they are crying, a thing that's past denying. Hear
them crying? And the ducks are cheeping, soft little murmurs while
they're sleeping, sleeping. Resting, softly resting! Gently, Girl,
gently! Down the hill comes Singing Water, laughing, laughing! Don't you
hear it laughing? Listen to the big owl courting; it sees the coon out
hunting, it hears the mink softly slipping, slipping, where the dews of
night are dripping. And the little birds are sleeping, so still they
are sleeping. Girls should be a-sleeping, like the birds a-sleeping,
for to-morrow joy comes creeping, joy and life and love come creeping,
creeping to my Girl. Gently, gently, that's a dear girl, gently! Tired
hands rest easy, tired head lies still! That's the way to rest----”
On and on the even voice kept up the story. All over and around the
lake, the length of Singing Water, the marsh folk found voices to tell
of their lives, where it was a story of joy, rest, and love. Up the hill
ranged the Harvester, through the forest where the squirrels slept, the
owl hunted, the fire-flies flickered, the fairies squeezed flower leaves
to make colour to paint the autumn foliage, and danced on toadstool
platforms. Just so long as his voice murmured and his touch continued,
so long the Girl lay quietly, and the medicines could act. But no other
touch would serve, and no other voice would answer. If the harvester
left the room five minutes to show the nurse how to light the fire, and
where to find things, he returned to tossing, restless delirium.
“It's magic David,” said Doctor Carey. “Magic!”
“It is love,” said the Harvester. “Even crazed with fever, she
recognizes its voice and touch. You've got your work cut out, Doc. Roll
your sleeves and collect your wits. Set your heart on winning. There is
one thing shall not happen. Get that straight in your mind, right
now. And you too, Miss Barnet! There is nothing like fighting for a
certainty. You may think the Girl is desperately ill, and she is, but
make up your minds that you are here to fight for her life, and to save
it. Save, do you understand? If she is to go, I don't need either of
you. I can let her do that myself. You are here on a mission of life.
Keep it before you! Life and health for this Girl is the prize you are
going to win. Dig into it, and I'll pay the bills, and extra besides. If
money is any incentive, I'll give you all I've got for life and health
for the Girl. Are you doing all you know?”
“I certainly am, David.”
“But when day comes you'll have to go back to the hospital and we may
not know how to meet crises that will arise. What then? We should have a
competent physician in the house until this fever breaks.”
“I had thought of that, David. I will arrange to send one of the men
from the hospital who will be able to watch symptoms and come for me
when needed.”
“Won't do!” said the Harvester calmly. “She has no strength for waiting.
You are to come when you can, and remain as long as possible. The case
is yours; your decisions go, but I will select your assistant. I know
the man I want.”
“Who is he, David?”
“I'll tell you when I learn whether I can get him. Now I want you to
give the Girl the strongest sedative you dare, take off your coat, roll
your sleeves, and see how well you can imitate my voice, and how much
you have profited by listening to my song. In other words, before day
calls, I want you to take my place so successfully that you deceive her,
and give me time to make a trip to town. There are a few things that
must be done, and I think I can work faster in the night. Will you?”
Doctor Carey bent over the bed. Gently he slipped a practised hand under
the Harvester's and made the next stroke down the white arm. Gradually
he took possession of the thin hands and his touch fell on the masses of
dark hair. As the Harvester arose the doctor took the seat.
“You go on!” he ordered gruffly. “I'll do better alone.”
The Harvester stepped back. The doctor's touch was easy and the Girl lay
quietly for an instant, then she moved restlessly.
“You must be still now,” he said gently. “The moon is up, the lake is
all white, and the birds are flying all around. Lie still or you'll make
yourself worse. Stiller than that! If you don't you can't hear things
courting. The ducks are quacking, the bull frogs are croaking, and
everything. Lie still, still, I tell you!”
“Oh good Lord, Doc!” groaned the Harvester in desperation.
The Girl wrenched her hands free and her head rolled on the pillow.
“Harvester! Harvester!” she cried.
The doctor started to arise.
“Sit still!” commanded the Harvester. “Take her hands and go to work,
idiot! Give her more sedative, and tell her I'm coming. That's the word,
if she realizes enough to call for me.”
The doctor possessed himself of the flying hands, and gently held and
stroked them.
“The Harvester is coming,” he said. “Wait just a minute, he's on the
way. He is coming. I think I hear him. He will be here soon, very soon
now. That's a good girl! Lie still for David. He won't like it if you
toss and moan. Just as still, lie still so I can listen. I can't tell
whether he is coming until you are quiet.”
Then he said to the Harvester, “You see, I've got it now. I can manage
her, but for pity sake, hurry man! Take the car! Jim is asleep on the
back seat----Yes, yes, Girl! I'm listening for him. I think I hear him!
I think he's coming!”
Here and there a word penetrated, and she lay more quietly, but not in
the rest to which the Harvester had lulled her.
“Hurry man!” groaned the doctor in a whispered aside, and the Harvester
ran to the car, awakened the driver and told him he had a clear road to
Onabasha, to speed up.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
“Dickson, of the First National.”
In a few minutes the car stopped before the residence and the Harvester
made an attack on the front door. Presently the man came.
“Excuse me for routing you out at this time of night,” said the
Harvester, “but it's a case of necessity. I have an automobile here.
I want you to go to the bank with me, and get me an address from your
draft records. I know the rules, but I want the name of my wife's
Chicago physician. She is delirious, and I must telephone him.”
The cashier stepped out and closed the door.
“Nine chances out of ten it will be in the vault,” he said.
“That leaves one that it won't,” answered the Harvester. “Sometimes I've
looked in when passing in the night, and I've noticed that the books are
not always put away. I could see some on the rack to-night. I think it
is there.”
It was there, and the Harvester ordered the driver to hurry him to the
telephone exchange, then take the cashier home and return and wait. He
called the Chicago Information office.
“I want Dr. Frank Harmon, whose office address is 1509 Columbia Street.
I don't know the 'phone number.”
Then came a long wait, and after twenty minutes the blessed buzzing
whisper, “Here's your party.”
“Doctor Harmon?”
“Yes.”
“You remember Ruth Jameson, the daughter of a recent patient of yours?”
“I do.”
“Well my name is Langston. The Girl is in my home and care. She is very
ill with fever, and she has much confidence in you. This is Onabasha,
on the Grand Rapids and Indiana. You take the Pennsylvania at seven
o'clock, telegraph ahead that you are coming so that they will make
connection for you, change at twelve-twenty at Fort Wayne, and I will
meet you here. You will find your ticket and a check waiting you at the
Chicago depot. Arrange to remain a week at least. You will be paid all
expenses and regular prices for your time. Will you come?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Make no failure. Good-bye.”
Then the Harvester left an order with the telephone company to run a
wire to Medicine Woods the first thing in the morning, and drove to the
depot to arrange for the ticket and check. In less than an hour he was
holding the Girl's hands and crooning over her.
“Jerusalem!” said Doctor Carey, rising stiffly. “I'd rather undertake
to cut off your head and put it back on than to tackle another job like
that. She's quite delirious, but she has flashes, and at such times she
knows whom she wants; the rest of the time it's a jumble and some of it
is rather gruesome. She's seen dreadful illness, hunger, and there's a
debt she's wild about. I told you something was back of this. You've got
to find out and set her mind at ease.”
“I know all about it,” said the Harvester patiently between crooning
sentences to the Girl. “But the crash came before I could convince her
that it was all right and I could fix everything for her easily. If she
only could understand me!”
“Did you find your man?”
“Yes. He will be here this afternoon.”
“Quick work!”
“This takes quick work.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“Yes. He is a young fellow, just starting out. He is a fine, straight,
manly man. I don't know how much he knows, but it will be enough to
recognize your ability and standing, and to do what you tell him. I have
perfect confidence in him. I want you to come back at one, and take my
place until I go to meet him.”
“I can bring him out.”
“I have to see him myself. There are a few words to be said before he
sees the Girl.”
“David, what are you up to?”
“Being as honourable as I can. No man gets any too decent, but there is
no law against doing as you would be done by, and being as straight as
you know how. When I've talked to him, I'll know where I am and I'll
have something to say to you.”
“David, I'm afraid----”
“Then what do you suppose I am?” said the Harvester. “It's no use, Doc.
Be still and take what comes! The manner in which you meet a crisis
proves you a whining cur or a man. I have got lots of respect for a dog,
as a dog; but I've none for a man as a dog. If you've gathered from the
Girl's delirium that I've made a mistake, I hope you have confidence
enough in me to believe I'll right it, and take my punishment without
whining. Go away, you make her worse. Easy, Girl, the world is all right
and every one is sleeping now, so you should be at rest. With the day
the doctor will come, the good doctor you know and like, Ruth. You
haven't forgotten your doctor, Ruth? The kind doctor who cared for you.
He will make you well, Ruth; well and oh, so happy! Harmon, Harmon,
Doctor Harmon is coming to you, Girl, and then you will be so happy!”
“Why you blame idiot!” cried Doctor Carey in a harsh whisper. “Have you
lost all the sense you ever had? Stop that gibber! She wants to hear
about the birds and Singing Water. Go on with that woods line of talk;
she likes that away the best. This stuff is making her restless. See!”
“You mean you are,” said the Harvester wearily. “Please leave us alone.
I know the words that will bring comfort. You don't.”
He began the story all over again, but now there ran through it a
continual refrain. “Your doctor is coming, the good doctor you know. He
will make you well and strong, and he will make life so lovely for you.”
He was talking without pause or rest when Doctor Carey returned in the
afternoon to take his place. He brought Mrs. Carey with him, and she
tried a woman's powers of soothing another woman, and almost drove the
Girl to fighting frenzy. So the doctor made another attempt, and the
Harvester raced down the hill to the city. He went to the car shed as
the train pulled in, and stood at one side while the people hurried
through the gate. He was watching for a young man with a travelling bag
and perhaps a physician's satchel, who would be looking for some one.
“I think I'll know him,” muttered the Harvester grimly. “I think the
masculine element in me will pop up strongly and instinctively at the
sight of this man who will take my Dream Girl from me. Oh good God! Are
You sure You ARE good?”
In his brown khaki trousers and shirt, his head bare, his bronze face
limned with agony he made no attempt to conceal, the Harvester, with
feet planted firmly, and tightly folded arms, his head tipped slightly
to one side, braced himself as he sent his keen gray eyes searching the
crowd. Far away he selected his man. He was young, strong, criminally
handsome, clean and alert; there was discernible anxiety on his face,
and it touched the Harvester's soul that he was coming just as swiftly
as he could force his way. As he passed the gates the Harvester reached
his side.
“Doctor Harmon, I think,” he said.
“Yes.”
“This way! If you have luggage, I will send for it later.”
The Harvester hurried to the car.
“Take the shortest cut and cover space,” he said to the driver. The car
kept to the speed limit until toward the suburbs.
Doctor Harmon removed his hat, ran his fingers through dark waving hair
and yielded his body to the swing of the car. Neither man attempted to
talk. Once the Harvester leaned forward and told the driver to stop
on the bridge, and then sat silently. As the car slowed down, they
alighted.
“Drive on and tell Doc we are here, and will be up soon,” said the
Harvester. Then he turned to the stranger. “Doctor Harmon, there's
little time for words. This is my place, and here I grow herbs for
medicinal houses.”
“I have heard of you, and heard your stuff recommended,” said the
doctor.
“Good!” exclaimed the Harvester. “That saves time. I stopped here to
make a required explanation to you. The day you sent Ruth Jameson to
Onabasha, I saw her leave the train and recognized in her my ideal
woman. I lost her in the crowd and it took some time to locate her.
I found her about a month ago. She was miserable. If you saw what her
father did to her and her mother in Chicago, you should have seen what
his brother was doing here. The end came one day in my presence, when I
paid her for ginseng she had found to settle her debt to you. He robbed
her by force. I took the money from him, and he threatened her. She was
ill then from heat, overwork, wrong food----every misery you can imagine
heaped upon the dreadful conditions in which she came. It had been my
intention to court and marry her if I possibly could. That day she had
nowhere to go; she was wild with fear; the fever that is scorching her
now was in her veins then. I did an insane thing. I begged her to marry
me at once and come here for rest and protection. I swore that if she
would, she should not be my wife, but my honoured guest, until she
learned to love me and released me from my vow. She tried to tell
me something; I had no idea it was anything that would make any real
difference, and I wouldn't listen. Last night, when the fever was
beginning to do its worst, she told me of your entrance into her life
and what it meant to her. Then I saw that I had made a mistake. You were
her choice, the man she could love, not me, so I took the liberty of
sending for you. I want you to cure her, court her, marry her, and make
her happy. God knows she has had her share of suffering. You recognize
her as a girl of refinement?”
“I do.”
“You grant that in health she would be lovelier than most women, do you
not?”
“She was more beautiful than most in sickness and distress.”
“Good!” cried the Harvester. “She has been here two weeks. I give you my
word, my promise to her has been kept faithfully. As soon as I can leave
her to attend to it, she shall have her freedom. That will be easy. Will
you marry her?”
The doctor hesitated.
“What is it?” asked the Harvester.
“Well to be frank,” said Doctor Harmon, “it is money! I'm only getting a
start. I borrowed funds for my schooling and what I used for her. She is
in every way attractive enough to be desired by any man, but how am I to
provide a home and support her and pay these debts? I'll try it, but I
am afraid it will be taking her back to wrong conditions again.”
“If you knew that she owned a comfortable cottage in the suburbs, where
it is cool and clean, and had, say a hundred a month of her own for the
coming three years, could you see your way?”
“That would make all the difference in the world. I thought seriously of
writing her. I wanted to, but I concluded I'd better work as hard as I
could for some practice first, and see if I could make a living for
two, before I tried to start anything. I had no idea she would not be
comfortably cared for at her uncle's.”
“I see,” said the Harvester. “If I had kept out, life would have come
right for her.”
“On the contrary,” said the doctor, “it appears very probable that she
would not be living.”
“It is understood between us, then, that you will court and marry her so
soon as she is strong enough?”
“It is understood,” agreed the doctor.
“Will you honour me by taking my hand?” asked the Harvester. “I scarcely
had hoped to find so much of a man. Now come to your room and get ready
for the stiffest piece of work you ever attempted.”
The Harvester led the way to the guest chamber over looking the lake,
and installed its first occupant. Then he hurried to the Girl. The
doctor was holding her head and one hand, his wife the other, and the
nurse her feet. It took the Harvester ten strenuous minutes to make his
touch and presence known and to work quiet. All over he began crooning
his story of rest, joy, and love. He broke off with a few words to
introduce Doctor Harmon to the Careys and the nurse, and then calmly
continued while the other men stood and watched him.
“Seems rather cut out for it,” commented Doctor Harmon.
“I never yet have seen him attempt anything that he didn't appear cut
out for,” answered Doctor Carey.
“Will she know me?” inquired the young man, approaching the bed.
When the Girl's eyes fell on him she grew rigid and lay staring at him.
Suddenly with a wild cry she struggled to rise.
“You have come!” she cried. “Oh I knew you would come! I felt you would
come! I cannot pay you now! Oh why didn't you come sooner?”
The young doctor leaned over and took one of the white hands from the
Harvester, stroking it gently.
“Why you did pay, Ruth! How did you come to forget? Don't you remember
the draft you sent me? I didn't come for money; I came to visit you, to
nurse you, to do all I can to make you well. I am going to take care of
you now so finely you'll be out on the lake and among the flowers soon.
I've got some medicine that makes every one well. It's going to make you
strong, and there's something else that's going to make you happy; and
me, I'm going to be the proudest man alive.”
He reached over and took possession of the other hand, stroking them
softly, and the Girl lay tensely staring at him and gradually yielding
to his touch and voice. The Harvester arose, and passing around the bed,
he placed a chair for Doctor Harmon and motioning for Doctor Carey left
the room. He went to the shore to his swimming pool, wearily dropped on
the bench, and stared across the water.
“Well thank God it worked, anyway!” he muttered.
“What's that popinjay doing here?” thundered Doctor Carey. “Got some
medicine that cures everybody. Going to make her well, is he? Make the
cows, and the ducks, and the chickens, and the shitepokes well, and
happy----no name for it! After this we are all going to be well and
happy! You look it right now, David! What under Heaven have you done?”
“Left my wife with the man she loves, and to whom I release her, my dear
friend,” said the Harvester. “And it's so easy for me that you needn't
give making it a little harder, any thought.”
“David, forgive me!” cried Doctor Carey. “I don't understand this. I'm
almost insane. Will you tell me what it means?”
“Means that I took advantage of the Girl's illness, utter loneliness,
and fear, and forced her into marrying me for shelter and care, when she
loved and wanted another man, who was preparing to come to her. He is
her Chicago doctor, and fine in every fibre, as you can see. There is
only one thing on earth for me to do, and that is to get out of their
way, and I'll do it as soon as she is well; but I vow I won't leave her
poor, tired body until she is, not even for him. I thought sure I could
teach her to love me! Oh but this is bitter, Doc!”
“You are a consummate fool to bring him here!” cried Doctor Carey. “If
she is too sick to realize the situation now, she will be different when
she is normal again. Any sane girl that wouldn't love you, David, ain't
fit for anything!”
“Yes, I'm a whale of a lover!” said the Harvester grimly. “Nice mess
I've made of it. But there is no real harm done. Thank God, Harmon was
not the only white man.”
“David, what do you mean?”
“Is it between us, Doc?”
“Yes.”
“For all time?”
“It is.”
The Harvester told him. He ended, “Give the fellow his dues, Doc. He had
her at his mercy, utterly alone and unprotected, in a big city. There
was not a living soul to hold him to account. He added to his burdens,
borrowed more money, and sent her here. He thought she was coming to
the country where she would be safe and well cared for until he could
support her. I did the remainder. Now I must undo it, that's all! But
you have got to go in there and practise with him. You've got to show
him every courtesy of the profession. You must go a little over the
rules, and teach him all you can. You will have to stifle your feelings,
and be as much of a man as it is in you to be, at your level best.”
“I'm no good at stifling my feelings!”
“Then you'll have to learn,” said the Harvester. “If you'd lived through
my years of repression in the woods you'd do the fellow credit. As I see
it, his side of this is nearly as fine as you make it. I tell you she
was utterly stricken, alone, and beautiful. She sought his assistance.
When the end came he thought only of her. Won't you give a young fellow
in a place like Chicago some credit for that? Can't you get through you
what it means?”
Doctor Carey stood frowning in deep thought, but the lines of his face
gradually changed.
“I suppose I've got to stomach him,” he said.
The nurse came down the gravel path.
“Mr. Langston, Doctor Harmon asked me to call you,” she said.
The Harvester arose and went to the sunshine room.
“What does he want, Molly?” asked the doctor.
“Wants to turn over his job,” chuckled the nurse. “He held it about
seven minutes in peace, and then she began to fret and call for the
Harvester. He just sweat blood to pacify her, but he couldn't make it.
He tried to hold her, to make love to her, and goodness knows what, but
she struggled and cried, 'David,' until he had to give it up and send
me.”
“Molly,” said Doctor Carey, “we've known the Harvester a long time, and
he is our friend, isn't he?”
“Of course!” said the nurse.
“We know this is the first woman he ever loved, probably ever will, as
he is made. Now we don't like this stranger butting in here; we resent
it, Molly. We are on the side of our friend, and we want him to win.
I'll grant that this fellow is fine, and that he has done well, but
what's the use in tearing up arrangements already made? And so suitable!
Now Molly, you are my best nurse, and a good reliable aid in times like
this. I gave you instructions an hour ago. I'll add this to them. YOU
ARE ON THE HARVESTER'S SIDE. Do you understand? In this, and the days to
come, you'll have a thousand chances to put in a lick with a sick woman.
Put them in as I tell you.”
“Yes, Doctor Carey.”
“And Molly! You are something besides my best nurse. You're a smashing
pretty girl, and your occupation should make you especially attractive
to a young doctor. I'm sure this fellow is all right, so while you are
doing your best with your patient for the Harvester, why not have a
try for yourself with the doctor? It couldn't do any harm, and it might
straighten out matters. Anyway, you think it over.”
The nurse studied his face silently for a time, and then she began to
laugh softly.
“He is up there doing his best with her,” she said.
The doctor threw out his hands in a gesture of disdain, and the nurse
laughed again; but her cheeks were pink and her eyes flashing as she
returned to duty.
“Random shot, but it might hit something, you never can tell,” commented
the doctor.
The Harvester entered the Girl's room and stood still. She was fretting
and raising her temperature rapidly. Before he reached the door his
heart gave one great leap at the sound of her voice calling his name. He
knew what to do, but he hesitated.
“She seems to have become accustomed to you, and at times does not
remember me,” said Doctor Harmon. “I think you had better take her again
until she grows quiet.”
The Harvester stepped to the bed and looked the doctor in the eye.
“I am afraid I left out one important feature in our little talk on the
bridge,” he said. “I neglected to tell you that in your fight for this
woman's life and love you have a rival. I am he. She is my wife, and
with the last fibre of my being I adore her. If you win, and she wants
you to take her away, I will help you; but my heart goes with her
forever. If by any chance it should occur that I have been mistaken or
misinterpreted her delirium or that she has been deceived and finds
she prefers me and Medicine Woods, to you and Chicago, when she has had
opportunity to measure us man against man, you must understand that
I claim her. So I say to you frankly, take her if you can, but don't
imagine that I am passive. I'll help you if I know she wants you, but I
fight you every inch of the way. Only it has got to be square and open.
Do you understand?”
“You are certainly sufficiently clear.”
“No man who is half a man sees the last chance of happiness go out of
his life without putting up the stiffest battle he knows,” said the
Harvester grimly. “Ruth-girl, you are raising the fever again. You must
be quiet.”
With infinite tenderness he possessed himself of her hands and began
stroking her hair, and in a low and soothing voice the story of the
birds, flowers, lake, and woods went on. To keep it from growing
monotonous the Harvester branched out and put in everything he knew.
In the days that followed he held a position none could take from him.
While the doctors fought the fever, he worked for rest and quiet, and
soothed the tortured body as best he could, that the medicines might
act.
But the fever was stubborn, and the remedies were slow; and long before
the dreaded coming day the doctors and nurse were quietly saying to
each other that when the crisis came the heart would fail. There was no
vitality to sustain life. But they did not dare tell the Harvester.
Day and night he sat beside the maple bed or stretched sleeping a
few minutes on the couch while the Girl slept; and with faith never
faltering and courage unequalled, he warned them to have their remedies
and appliances ready.
“I don't say it's going to be easy,” he said. “I just merely state that
it must be done. And I'll also mention that, when the hour comes, the
man who discovers that he could do something if he had digitalis, or a
remedy he should have had ready and has forgotten, that man had better
keep out of my sight. Make your preparations now. Talk the case over.
Fill your hypodermics. Clean your air pumps. Get your hot-water bottles
ready. Have system. Label your stuff large and set it conveniently. You
see what is coming, be prepared!”
One day, while the Girl lay in a half-drugged, feverish sleep, the
Harvester went for a swim. He dressed a little sooner than was expected
and in crossing the living-room he heard Doctor Harmon say to Doctor
Carey on the veranda, “What are we going to do with him when the end
comes?”
The Harvester stepped to the door. “That won't be the question,” he said
grimly. “It will be what will HE do with us?”
Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, he caught Doctor Harmon at
the waist line, and lifted and dangled him as a baby, and then stood
him on the floor. “Didn't hardly expect that much muscle, did you?” he
inquired lightly. “And I'm not in what you could call condition, either.
Instead of wasting any time on fool questions like that, you two go over
your stuff and ask each other, have we got every last appliance known
to physics and surgery? Have we got duplicates on hand in case we break
delicate instruments like hypodermic syringes and that sort of thing?
Engage yourselves with questions pertaining to life; that is your
business. Instead of planning what you'll do in failure, bolster your
souls against it. Granny Moreland beats you two put together in grip and
courage.”
The Harvester returned to his task, and the fight went on. At last the
hour came when the temperature fell lower and lower. The feeble pulses
flickered and grew indiscernible; a gray pallor hovered over the Girl,
and a cold sweat stood on her temples.
“Now!” said the Harvester. “Exercise your calling! Fight like men or
devils, but win you must.”
They did work. They administered stimulants; applied heat to the chilled
body; fans swept the room with vitalized air; hypodermics were used; and
every last resort known to science was given a full test, and the weak
heart throbbed slower and slower, and life ran out with each breath. The
Harvester stood waiting with set jaws. He could detect no change for the
better. At last he picked up a chilled hand and could discover no
pulse, and the gray nails and the dark tips told a story of arrested
circulation. He laid down the hand and faced the men.
“This is what you'd call the crisis, Doc?” he asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Are you stemming it? Are you stemming it? Are you sure she is holding
her own?”
Doctor Carey looked at him silently.
“Have you done all you can do?” asked the Harvester.
“Yes.”
“You believe her going out?”
“Yes.”
The Harvester turned to Doctor Harmon. “Do you concur in that?”
“Yes.”
Then to the nurse, “And you?”
“Yes.”
“Then,” said the Harvester, “all of you are useless. Get out of here. I
don't want your atmosphere. If you can believe only in death, leave us!
She is my wife, and if this is the end she belongs to me, and I will do
as I choose with her. All of you go!”
The Harvester stepped to the bathroom door and called Granny Moreland.
“Granny,” he said, “science has turned tail, and left me in extremity.
Fill your hot-water bottles and come in here with your heart big with
hope and help me save my Dream Girl. She is breathing Granny; we've got
to make her keep it up, that's all----just keep her breathing.”
He returned to the sunshine room, placed a small table beside the bed,
and on it a glass of water, spoon, and a hypodermic syringe. When Granny
Moreland came he said: “Now you begin on her feet and rub with long,
sweeping, upward strokes to drive the blood to her heart.”
Around the Girl he piled hot-water bottles and breathlessly hung over
her, rubbing her hands. He wiped the perspiration from her forehead, and
then dropped by her bed and for a second laid his face on her cold palm.
“If I am wrong, Heaven forgive me,” he prayed. “And you, oh, my darling
Dream Girl, forgive me, but I am forced to try----God helping me! Amen.”
He arose, took a small bottle from his pocket, filled the spoon with
water, and measured into it three drops of liquid as yellow as gold.
Then he held the spoon to the blue lips, and with his fingers worked
apart the set teeth, and poured the medicine down her throat. Then they
rubbed and muttered snatches of prayer for fifteen minutes when the
Harvester administered another three drops. It might have been fancy,
but it seemed to him her jaws were not so stiff. Faster flew his hands
and he sent Granny Moreland to refill the hot bottles. When he gave the
Girl the third dose he injected some of the liquid over her heart and of
the glycerine the doctors had left, in the extremities. He released more
air and began rubbing again.
The second hour started in the same way, and ended with slowly relaxing
muscles and faint tinges of colour in the white cheeks. The feet were
not so cold, and when the Harvester held the spoon he knew that the
Girl made an effort to swallow, and he could see her eyelids tremble.
Thereupon he pointed these signs to Granny, and implored her to rub and
pray, and pray and rub, while he worked until the perspiration rolled
down his gray face. At the end of the second hour he began decreasing
the doses and shortening the time, and again he commenced in a
low rumble his song of life and health, to encourage the Girl as
consciousness returned.
Occasionally Doctor Carey opened the door slightly and peeped in to see
if he were wanted, but he received no invitation to enter. The last
time he left with the impression that the Harvester was raving, while
he worked over a lifeless body. He had the Girl warmly covered and bent
over her face and hands. At her feet crouched Granny Moreland, rubbing,
still rubbing, beneath the covers, while in a steady stream the
Harvester was pouring out his song. If he had listened an instant longer
he would have recognized that the tone and the words had changed. Now it
was, “Gently, breathe gently, Girl! Slowly, steadily, easily! Deeper, a
little deeper, Ruth! Brave Girl, never another so wonderful! That's my
Dream Girl coming from the shadows, coming to life's sunshine, coming to
hope, coming to love! Deeper, just a little deeper! Smoothly and evenly!
You are making it, Girl! You are making it! By all that is holy and
glorious! Stick to it, Ruth, hold tight to me! I'll help you, dear! You
are coming, coming back to life and love. Don't worry yourself trying
too hard, if only you can send every breath as deeply as the last one,
you can make it. You brave girl! You wonderful Dream Girl! Ah, Ruth, the
name of this is victory!”
An hour before Doctor Carey had said to Doctor Harmon and the nurse,
as he softly closed the door: “It is over and the Harvester is raving.
We'll give him a little more time and see if he won't realize it
himself. That will be easier for him than for us to try to tell him.”
Now he opened the door, stared a second, and coming to the opposite side
of the bed, he leaned over the Girl. Then he felt her feet. They were
warm and slightly damp. A surprised look crept over his face. He gently
reached for a hand that the Harvester yielded to him. It was warm,
the blue tips becoming rosy, the wrist pulse discernible. Then he bent
closer, touched her face, and saw the tremulous eyelids. He turned back
the cover, and held his ear over her heart. When he straightened, “As
God lives, she's got a chance, David!” he exulted in an awed whisper.
The Harvester lifted a graven face, down which the sweat of agony
rolled, and his lips parted in a twitching smile. “Then this is where
love beats the doctors, Carey!” he said.
“It is where love has ventured what science dares not. Love didn't do
all of this. In the name of the Almighty, what did you give her, David?”
“Life!” cried the Harvester. “Life! Come on, Ruth, come on! Out of the
valley come to me! You are well now, Girl! It's all over! The last trace
of fever is gone, the last of the dull ache. Can you swallow just two
more drops of bottled sunshine, Ruth?”
The flickering lids slowly opened, and the big black eyes looked
straight into the Harvester's. He met them steadily, smiling
encouragement.
“Hang on to each breath, dear heart!” he urged. “The fever is gone. The
pain is over! Long life and the love you crave are for you. You've only
to keep breathing a few more hours and the battle is yours. Glorious
Girl! Noble! You are doing finely! Ruth, do you know me?”
Her lips moved.
“Don't try to speak,” said the Harvester. “Don't waste breath on a word.
Save the good oxygen to strengthen your tired body. But if you do know
me, maybe you could smile, Ruth!”
She could just smile, and that was all. Feeble, flickering, transient,
but as it crossed the living face the Harvester lifted her hands and
kissed them over and over, back, palm, and finger tips.
“Now just one more drop, honey, and then a long rest. Will you try it
again for me?”
She assented, and the Harvester took the bottle from his pocket, poured
the drop, and held the spoon to willing lips. The big eyes were on him
with a question. Then they fell to the spoon. The Harvester understood.
“Yes, it's mine! It's got sixty years of wonderful life in it, every one
of them full of love and happiness for my dear Dream Girl. Can you take
it, Ruth?”
Her lips parted, the wine of life passed between. She smiled faintly,
and her eyelids dropped shut, but presently they opened again.
“David!”
“My Dream Girl!”
“Harvester?”
“Yes!”
“Medicine Man?”
“Don't, Ruth! Save every breath to help your heart.”
“Life?”
“Life it is, Girl!” exulted the Harvester. “Long life! Love! Home! The
man you love! Every happiness that ever came to a girl! Nothing shall be
denied you! Nothing shall be lacking! It's all in your hands now, Ruth.
We've all done everything we can; you must do the remainder. It's your
work to send every breath as deeply as you can. Doc, release another
tank of air. Are her feet warm, Granny? Let the nurse take your place
now. And, honey, go to sleep! I'll keep watch for you. I'll measure
each breath you draw. If they shorten or weaken, I'll wake you for more
medicine. You can trust me! Always you can trust me, Ruth.”
The Girl smiled and fell into a light, even slumber. Granny Moreland
stumbled to the couch and rolled on it sobbing with nervous exhaustion.
Doctor Carey called the nurse to take her place. Then he came to the
Harvester's side and whispered, “Let me, David!”
The Harvester looked up with his queer grin, but he made no motion to
arise.
“Won't you trust me, David? I'll watch as if it were my own wife.”
“I wouldn't trust any man on earth, for the coming three hours,” replied
the Harvester. “If I keep this up that long, she is safe. Go and rest
until I call you.”
He again bent over the Girl, one hand on her left wrist, the other over
her heart, his eyes on her lips, watching the depth and strength of her
every breath. Regularly he administered the medicine he was giving her.
Sometimes she took it half asleep; again she gave him a smile that to
the Harvester was the supreme thing of earth or Heaven. Toward the end
of the long vigil, in exhaustion he slipped to the floor, and laid his
head on the side of the bed, and for a second his hand relaxed and he
fell asleep. The Girl awakened as his touch loosened and looking down
she saw his huddled body. A second later the Harvester awoke with a
guilty start to find her fingers twisted in the shock of hair on the top
of his head.
“Poor stranded Girl,” he muttered. “She's clinging to me for life, and
you can stake all you are worth she's going to get it!”
Then he gently relaxed her grip, gave her the last dose he felt
necessary, yielded his place to Doctor Carey and staggered up the hill.
As the sun peeped over Medicine Woods he stretched himself between the
two mounds under the oak, and for a few minutes his body was rent with
the awful, torn sobbing of a strong man. Belshazzar nosed the twisting
figure and whined pitifully. A chattering little marsh wren tilted on a
bush and scolded. A blue jay perched above and tried to decide whether
there was cause for an alarm signal. A snake coming from the water to
hunt birds ran close to him, and changing its course, went weaving away
among the mosses. Gradually the pent forces spent themselves, and for
hours the Harvester lay in the deep sleep of exhaustion, and stretched
beside him, Belshazzar guarded with anxious dog eyes.