The Harvester stopped at the mail box on his way home and among the mass
of matter it contained was something from the Girl. It was a scrap as
long as his least finger and three times as wide, and by the postmark
it had lain four days in the box. On opening it, he found only her card
with a line written across it, but the man went up the hill and into the
cabin as if a cyclone were driving him, for he read, “Has your bluebird
come?”
He threw his travelling bag on the floor, ran to the telephone, and
called the station. “Take this message,” he said. “Mrs. David Langston,
care of Alexander Herron, 5770 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. Found note
after four days' absence. Bluebird long past due. The fairies have told
it that my fate hereafter lies in your hands.
“As always. David.”
The Harvester turned from the instrument and bent to embrace Belshazzar,
leaping in ecstasy beside him.
“Understand that, Bel?” he asked. “I don't know but it means something.
Maybe it doesn't----not a thing! And again, there is a chance----only
the merest possibility----that it does. We'll risk it, Bel, and to
begin on I have nailed it as hard as I knew how. Next, we will clean
the house----until it shines, and then we will fill the cupboard, and if
anything does happen we won't be caught napping. Yes, boy, we will take
the chance! We can't be any worse disappointed than we have been before
and survived it. Come along!”
He picked up the bag and arranged its contents, carefully brushed and
folded on his shelves and in his closet. Then he removed the travelling
suit, donned the old brown clothes and went to the barn to see that his
creatures had been cared for properly. Early the next morning he awoke
and after feeding and breakfasting instead of going to harvest spice
brush and alder he stretched a line and hung the bedding from room after
room to air and sun. He swept, dusted, and washed windows, made beds,
and lastly polished the floors throughout the cabin. He set everything
in order, and as a finishing touch, filled vases, pitchers, and bowls
with the bloom of red bud and silky willow catkins. He searched the
south bank, but there was not a violet, even in the most exposed places.
By night he was tired and a little of the keen edge of his ardour was
dulled. The next day he worked scrubbing the porches, straightening
the lawn and hedges, even sweeping the driveway to the bridge clear
of wind-whirled leaves and straw. He scouted around the dry-house and
laboratory, and spent several extra hours on the barn so that when
evening came everything was in perfect order. Then he dressed, ate his
supper and drove to the city.
He stopped at the mail box, but there was nothing from the Girl. The
Harvester did not know whether he was sorry or glad. A letter might have
said the same thing. Nothing meant a delightful possibility, and between
the two he preferred the latter. He whistled and sang as he drove to
Onabasha, and Belshazzar looked at him with mystified eyes, for this was
not the master he had known of late. He did not recognize the dress or
the manner, but his dog heart was sympathetic to the man's every mood,
and he remembered times when a drive down the levee always had been like
this, for to-night the Harvester's tongue was loosened and he talked in
the old way.
“Just four words, Bel,” he said. “And, as I remarked before, they may
mean the most wonderful thing on earth, and possibly nothing at all.
But it is in the heart of man to hope, Bel, and so we are going to live
royally for a week or two, just on hope, old boy. If anything should
happen, we are ready, rooms shining, beds fresh, fireplaces filled and
waiting a match, ice chest cool, and when we get back it will be stored.
Also a secret, Bel; we are going to a florist and a fruit store. While
we are at it, we will do the thing right; but we will stay away from
Doc, until we are sure of something. He means well, but we don't like
to be pitied, do we, Bel? Our friends don't manage their eyes and voices
very well these days. Never mind! Our time will come yet. The bluebird
will not fail us, but never before has it been so late.”
On his return he filled the pantry shelves with packages, stored the
ice chest, and set a basket of delicious fruit on the dining table. Two
boxes remained. He opened the larger one and took from it an arm load of
white lilies that he carried up the hill and divided between the mounds
under the oak. Then he uncovered his head, and standing at the foot of
them he looked among the boughs of the big tree and listened intently.
After a time a soft, warm wind, catkin-scented, crept from the lake,
and began a murmur among the clusters of brown leaves clinging to the
branches.
“Mother,” said the Harvester, “were you with me? Did I do it right? Did
I tell them what you would have had me say for the boys? Are you glad
now you held me to the narrow way? Do you want me to go before men if
I am asked, as Doc says I will be, and tell them that the only way to
abolish pain is for them to begin at the foundation by living clean
lives? I don't know if I did any good, but they listened to me. Anyway,
I did the best I knew. But that isn't strange; you ground it into me to
do that every day, until it is almost an instinct. Mother, dear, can you
tell me about the bluebird? Is that softest little rustle of all your
voice? and does it say 'hope'? I think so, and I thank you for the
word.”
The man's eyes dropped to earth.
“And you other mother,” he said, “have you any message for me? Up where
you are can you sweep the world with understanding eyes and tell me why
my bluebird does not come? Does it know that this year your child and
not chance must settle my fate? Can you look across space and see if she
is even thinking of me? But I know that! She had to be thinking of me
when she wrote that line. Rather can you tell me----will she come? Do
you think I am man enough to be trusted with her future, if she does?
One thing I promise you: if such joy ever comes to me, I will know how
to meet it gently, thankfully, tenderly, please God. Good night, little
women. I hope you are sleeping well----”
He turned and went down the hill, entered the cabin and took from the
other box a mass of Parma violets. He put these in the pink bowl and
placed it on the table beside the Girl's bed. He stood for a time, and
then began pulling single flowers from the bowl and dropping them over
the pillow and snowy spread.
“God, how I love her!” he whispered softly.
At last he went out and closed the door. He was tired and soon fell
asleep with the night breeze stirring his hair, and the glamour of
moonlight flooding the lake touched his face. Clearly it etched the
strong, manly features, the fine brow and chin, and painted in unusual
tenderness the soft lines around the mouth. The little owl wavered its
love story, a few frogs were piping, and the Harvester lay breathing the
perfumed spring air deeply and evenly. Near midnight Belshazzar awakened
him by arising from the bedside and walking to the door.
“What is it, Bel?” inquired the Harvester.
The dog whined softly. The man turned his head toward the lake. A ray of
red light touched the opposite embankment and came wavering across the
surface. The Harvester sat up. Two big, flaming eyes were creeping up
the levee.
“That,” said the Harvester, “might be Doc coming for me to help him try
out my bottled sunshine, or it might be my bluebird.”
He tossed back the cover, swung his feet to the floor, setting each in a
slipper beside the bed, and arose, dressing as he started for the door.
As he opened the screen and stepped on the veranda a passenger car from
the city stopped, and the Harvester went down the walk to meet it. His
heart turned over when he saw a woman's hand on the door.
“Permit me,” he said, taking the handle and bringing it back with a
sweep. A tall form arose, bent forward, and descended to the step. The
full flare of moonlight fell on the glowing face of the Girl.
“Harvester, is it you?” she asked.
“Yes,” gasped the man.
Two hands came fluttering out, and he just had presence of mind to step
in range so that they rested on his shoulders.
“Has the bluebird come?”
“Not yet!”
“Then I am not too late?”
“Never too late to come to me, Ruth.”
“I am welcome?”
“I have no words to tell you how welcome.”
She swayed forward and the Harvester tried to reach her lips, but they
brushed his cheek and touched his ear.
“I have brought one more kiss I want to try,” she whispered.
The Harvester crushed her in his arms until he frightened himself for
fear he had hurt her, and murmured an ecstasy of indistinct love words
to her. Presently her feet touched the ground and she drew away from
him.
“Harvester,” she whispered, “I couldn't wait any longer; indeed I could
not: and I couldn't leave grandfather and grandmother, and I didn't
know what in the world to do, so I just brought them along. Are they
welcome?”
“Aside from you, I would rather have them than any people on earth,”
said the Harvester.
There were two sounds in the car; one was an approving murmur, and the
other an undeniable snort. The Harvester felt the reassuring pressure of
the Girl's hand.
“Please, Ruth,” he said, “go turn on the light so that I can see to help
grandmother.”
A foot stamped before the front seat. “Madam Herron, if you please!”
cried an acrid voice.
“'Madam Herron,'” said the Harvester gently, as he set a foot on the
step, reached in and bodily picked up a little old lady and started up
the walk with her in his arms.
“Careful there, sir!” roared a voice after him.
The Harvester could feel the quake of the laughing woman and he smiled
broadly as he entered the cabin, and placed her in a large chair before
the fire. Then he wheeled and ran back to the car, reaching it as the
man was making an effort to descend. It could be seen that he had been
tall, before time and sorrow had bent him, and keen eyes gleamed below
shaggy white brows from under his hat brim. He had a white moustache,
and his hair was snowy.
“Allow me,” said the Harvester reaching a hand.
“If you touch me I will cane you,” said Mr. Alexander Herron.
There was nothing to do but step back. The cane, wheel, and a long coat
skirt interfering, the old man fell headlong, and only quick hands saved
him a severe jolt and bruises. He stood glaring in the moonlight while
his hat was restored.
“If you run your car to the curve you can back toward the south and turn
easily,” said the Harvester to the driver. As the automobile passed them
he offered his arm. “May I show you to the fire? These spring nights are
chilly.”
“'Chilly!' Demnition cold is what they are! I'm frozen to the bone! This
will be the end of us both! Dragging people of our age around at this
hour of night. Of all the accursed stubbornness!”
“There are three low steps,” said the Harvester, “now a straight stretch
of walk, now two steps; there you are on the level. Here is an easy
chair. It would be better to leave on your coat, until I light the
fire.”
He knelt and scratched a match, and almost instantly a flame sprang from
the heap of dry kindling, and began to wrap around the big logs.
“How pretty!” exclaimed a soft voice.
“Kind of a hunting lodge in the wilds, is it?” growled a rough one.
“Marcella, you will take your death here!”
“I'm sure I feel no exposure. Really, Alexander, if I had passed away
every time you have prophesied that I would in the past twenty years
you'd have the largest private cemetery in existence. If you would not
be so pessimistic I could quite enjoy the trip. It's so long since I've
ridden in the cars.”
“Of all the abandoned places! And for you to be here, after your years
in bed!”
“But I'm not nearly so tired as I am at home, Alexander, truly.”
“Let me help you, grandfather,” offered the Girl.
She went to him and took his hat and stick.
“Leave me my cane,” he cried. “Any instant that beast may attack some of
us.”
The Girl laughed merrily.
“Why grandfather!” she chided, “Bel is the finest dog you ever knew,
he is my best friend here. By the hour he has protected me, and he is
gentle as a kitten. He's crazy over my coming home.”
She knelt on the floor, put her arms around the dog's neck, and the
delighted brute quivered with the joy of her caress and the sound of her
loved voice.
“Ruthie!” cautioned the gentle lady.
“Put that cur out of doors, where animals belong,” roared the old man,
lifting his stick.
“Careful!” warned the grave voice of the Harvester.
“I thought you said he was gentle as a kitten!”
“Grandfather, I said that,” cried the Girl.
“Well wasn't it the truth?”
“You can see how he loves me. Didn't I ever tell you that Bel made the
first friendly overture I ever received in this part of the country?
He's watched me by the day, even while I slept.”
“Then what's all this infernal fuss about?”
“Try striking him if you want to find out,” explained the Harvester
gently. “You see, Belshazzar and I are accustomed to living here alone
and very quietly. He is excited over the Girl's return, because she is
his friend, and he has not forgotten her. Then this is the first time in
his life he ever heard an irritable voice from a visitor or saw a cane,
and it angers him. He is perfectly safe to guard a baby, if he is gently
treated, but he is a sure throat hold to a stranger who bespeaks him
roughly or attempts to strike. He would be of no use as a guard to
valuable property while I sleep if he were otherwise. Bel, come here!
Lie still.”
The dog sank to the floor beside the Harvester, but his sharp eyes
followed the Girl, and the hair arose on his neck at every rasping note
of the old man's voice.
“I wouldn't give such a creature house room for a minute,” insisted the
guest.
“Wait until you see him work and become acquainted with him, and you
will change that verdict,” prophesied the Harvester.
“I never was known to change an opinion. Never, sir! Never!” cried the
testy voice.
“How unfortunate!” remarked the Harvester suavely.
“Explain yourself! Explain yourself, sir!”
“There never has been, there never will be, a man on this earth,” said
the Harvester, “wholly free from mistakes. Are you warm now?” He turned
to the little lady, cutting off a reply with his question.
“Nice and warm and quite sleepy,” she said.
“What may I bring you for a light lunch before you go to bed?”
“Oh, could I have a bite of something?”
“If only I am fortunate enough to have anything you will care for. What
about a bowl of hot milk and a slice of toast?”
“Why I think that would be just the thing!”
“Excuse me,” said the Harvester rising.
He went to the kitchen and they could hear him moving around.
“I wish the big brute would take his beast along,” growled Mr. Alexander
Herron.
“Come, Bel,” ordered the Girl. “Let's go to the kitchen.”
The dog instantly arose and followed her.
“What can I do to help?” she asked as they reached the door.
“Remain where you won't dazzle my eyes,” said the Harvester, “until I
help the gentle lady and the gentle man to bed.”
Presently he came with a white cloth, two spoons, and a plate of bread.
He spread the cloth on the table, laid the spoons on it, and opening the
little cupboard, took out a long toasting fork, and sticking it into a
slice of bread, he held it over the coals. When it grew golden brown he
lifted the table beside the chair, and brought a bowl of scalded milk.
“Marcella, that stuff will be too smoky for you! Your stomach will rebel
at it.”
“Grandfather, there will not be a suspicion of odour,” said the Girl. “I
have had it that way often.”
“Then no wonder you came from this place looking like a picked crane, if
that is a sample of what you were fed on!”
The face of the Harvester grew redder than the heat of the fire
necessitated, but at the ringing laugh of the Girl he set his teeth
and went on toasting bread. Grandmother crumbled some in the milk and
picking up the spoon tested the combination. She was very hungry, and it
was good. She began eating with relish.
“Alexander, you will be the loser if you don't have some of this,” she
said. “It's just delicious!”
“Maybe smoked spoon victuals are proper for invalid women,” he retorted,
“but they are mighty thin diet for a hardy man.”
“What about a couple of eggs and some beef extract?” suggested the cook.
“Sounds more sensible by a long shot.”
“Ruth, you make this toast,” said the Harvester and disappeared.
Presently he placed before his guest a couple of eggs poached in milk,
a steaming bowl of beef juice, and a plate of toast. For one instant
the Harvester thought this was going into the fire, the next a slice was
picked up and smelled testily. The Girl sat on her grandfather's chair
arm, and breaking a morsel of toast dipped it into the broth and tasted
it.
“Oh but that is good!” she cried. “Why haven't I some also? Am I
supposed to have no 'tummy'?”
“Your turn next,” said the Harvester, as he again gave her the fork and
went to the kitchen.
When he returned and served the Girl he found her grandfather eating
heartily.
“Why I think this is fun,” said the gentle lady. “I haven't had such a
fine time in ages. I love the heat of the flame on my body and things
taste so good. I could go to sleep without any narcotic, right now.”
Close her knee the Harvester knelt on the hearth with his toasting fork.
She leaned forward and ran her fingers through his hair.
“You're a braw laddie,” she said. “Now I see why Ruthie WOULD come.”
The Harvester took the frail hand and kissed it. “Thank you!” he
returned.
“Mush!” exploded the grizzled man in the rear.
When no one wanted more food the Harvester stacked and carried away the
dishes, swept the hearth, and replaced the toaster.
“Ruth and I often lunched this way last fall,” he said. “We liked it for
a change.”
“Alexander, have you noticed?” asked the little woman as she lifted wet
eyes to a beautiful portrait of her daughter beside the chimney.
“D'ye think I'm blind? Saw it as I entered the door. Poor taste! Very!
Brown may match the rug and wood-work, but it's a wretched colour for a
young girl in her gay time. Should be pink and white with a gold frame.”
“That would be beautiful,” agreed the Harvester. “We must have one that
way. This is not an expensive picture. It is only an enlargement from an
old photograph.”
“We have a number of very handsome likenesses. Which one can you spare
Ruth, Marcella?”
“The one she likes best,” said the lady promptly.
“And the other is your mother, no doubt. What a girlish, beautiful
face!”
“Wonderfully fine!” growled a gruff old voice tinctured with tears, and
the Harvester began to see light.
The old man arose. “Ruthie, help your grandmother to bed,” he said. “And
you, sir, have the goodness to walk a few steps with me.”
The Harvester sprang up and brought Mr. Herron his coat and hat and held
the door. The Girl brushed past him.
“To the oak,” she whispered.
They went into the night, and without a word the Harvester took his
guest's arm and guided him up the hill. When they reached the two mounds
the moon shining between the branches touched the lily faces with with
holy whiteness.
“She sleeps there,” said the Harvester, indicating the place.
Then he turned and went down the path a little distance and waited until
he feared the night air would chill the broken old man.
“You can see better to-morrow,” he said as he touched the shaking figure
and assisted it to arise.
“Your work?” Mr. Alexander Herron touched the lilies with his walking
stick.
The Harvester assented.
“Do you mind if I carry one to Marcella?”
The Harvester trembled as he stooped to select the largest and whitest,
and with sudden illumination, he fully understood. He helped the
tottering old man to the cabin, where he sat silently before the
fireplace softly touching the lily face with his lips.
“I have put grandmother in my bed, tucked her in warmly, and she says it
is soft and fine,” laughed the Girl, coming to them. “Now you go before
she falls asleep, and I hope you will rest well.”
She bent and kissed him.
The Harvester held the door.
“Can I be of any service?” he inquired.
“No, I'm no helpless child.”
“Then to my best wishes for sound sleep the remainder of the night, I
will add this,” said the Harvester----“You may rest in peace concerning
your dear girl. I sympathize with your anxiety. Good night!”
Alexander Herron threw out his hands in protest.
“I wouldn't mind admitting that you are a gentleman in a month or two,”
he said, “but it's a demnation humiliation to have it literally wrung
from me to-night!”
He banged the door in the face of the amazed Harvester, who turned
to the Girl as she leaned against the mantel. He stood absorbing the
glowing picture of beauty and health that she made. She had removed her
travelling dress and shoes, and was draped in a fleecy white wool kimono
and wearing night slippers. Her hair hung in two big braids as it had
during her illness. She was his sick girl again in costume, but radiant
health glowed on her lovely face. The Harvester touched a match to a few
candles and turned out the acetylene lights. Then he stood before her.
“Now, bluebird,” he said gently. “Ruth, you always know where to find
me, if you will look at your feet. I thought I loved you all in my power
when you went, but absence has taught its lessons. One is that I can
grow to love you more every day I live, and the other that I probably
trifled with the highest gift you had to offer, when I sent you away.
I may have been right; Granny and Doc think I was wrong. You know the
answer. You said there was another kiss for me. Ruth, is it the same or
a different one?”
“It is different. Quite, quite different!”
“And when?” The Harvester stretched out longing arms. The Girl stepped
back.
“I don't know,” she said. “I had it when I started, but I lost it on the
way.”
The Harvester staggered under the disappointment.
“Ruth, this has gone far enough that you wouldn't play with me, merely
for the sake of seeing me suffer, would you?”
“No!” cried the Girl. “No! I mean it! I knew just what I wanted to say
when I started; but we had to take grandmother out of bed. She wouldn't
allow me to leave her, and I wouldn't stay away from you any longer. She
fainted when we put her on the car and grandfather went wild. He almost
killed the porters, and he raved at me. He said my mother had ruined
their lives, and now I would be their death. I got so frightened I had a
nervous chill and I'm so afraid she will grow worse----”
“You poor child!” shuddered the Harvester. “I see! I understand! What
you need is quiet and a good rest.”
He placed her in a big easy chair and sitting on the hearth rug he
leaned against her knee and said, “Now tell me, unless you are so tired
that you should go to bed.”
“I couldn't possibly sleep until I have told you,” said the Girl.
“If you're merciful, cut it short!” implored the Harvester.
“I think it begins,” she said slowly, “when I went because you sent me
and I didn't want to go. Of course, as soon as I saw grandfather and
grandmother, heard them talk, and understood what their lives had been,
and what might have been, why there was only one thing to do, as I could
see it, and that was to compensate their agony the best I could. I think
I have, David. I really think I have made them almost happy. But I told
them all any one could tell about you in the start, and from the first
grandmother would have been on your side; but you see how grandfather
is, and he was absolutely determined that I should live with them, in
their home, all their lives. He thought the best way to accomplish that
would be to separate me from you and marry me to the son of his partner.
“There are rooms packed with the lovely things they bought me, David,
and everything was as I wrote you. Some of the people who came were
wonderful, so gracious and beautiful, I loved almost all of them. They
took me places where there were pictures, plays, and lovely parties, and
I studied hard to learn some music, to dance, ride and all the things
they wanted me to do, and to read good books, and to learn to meet
people with graciousness to equal theirs, and all of it. Every day I
grew stronger and met more people, and there were different places to
go, and always, when anything was to be done, up popped Mr. Herbert
Kennedy and said and did exactly the right thing, and he could be
extremely nice, David.”
“I haven't a doubt!” said the Harvester, laying hold of her kimono.
“And he popped up so much that at last I saw he was either pretending
or else he really was growing very fond of me, so one day when we were
alone I told him all about you, to make him see that he must not. He
laughed at me, and said exactly what you did, that I didn't love you
at all, that it was gratitude, that it was the affection of a child. He
talked for hours about how grandfather and grandmother had suffered,
how it was my duty to live with them and give you up, even if I cared
greatly for you; but he said what I felt was not love at all. Then he
tried to tell me what he thought love was, and I could see very clearly
that if it was like that, I didn't love you, but I came a whole world
closer it than loving him, and I told him so. He laughed again and said
I was mistaken, and that he was going to teach me what real love was,
and then I could not be driven back to you. After that, everybody and
everything just pushed me toward him with both hands, except one person.
She was a young married woman and I met her at the very first. She
was the only real friend I ever had, and at last, the latter part of
February, when things were the very worst, I told her. I told her every
single thing. She was on your side. She said you were twice the man
Herbert Kennedy was, and as soon as I found I could talk to her about
you, I began going there and staying as long as I could, just to talk
and to play with her baby.
“Her husband was a splendid young fellow, and I grew very fond of him.
I knew she had told him, because he suddenly began talking to me in the
kindest way, and everything he said seemed to be what I most wanted to
hear. I got along fairly well until hints of spring began to come, and
then I would wonder about my hedge, and my gold garden, and if the ice
was off the lake, and about my boat and horse, and I wanted my room,
and oh, David, most of all I wanted you! Just you! Not because you
could give me anything to compare in richness with what they could, not
because this home was the best I'd ever known except theirs, not for any
reason at all only just that I wanted to see your face, hear your voice,
and have you pick me up and take me in your arms when I was tired. That
was when I almost quit writing. I couldn't say what I wanted to, and I
wouldn't write trivial things, so I went on day after day just groping.”
“And you killed me alive,” said the Harvester.
“I was afraid of that, but I couldn't write. I just couldn't! It was ten
days ago that I thought of the bluebird's coming this year and what it
would mean to you, and THAT killed me, Man! It just hurt my heart
until it ached, to know that you were out here alone; and that night I
couldn't sleep, because I was thinking of you, and it came to me that if
I had your lips then I could give you a much, much better kiss than the
last, and when it was light I wrote that line.
“Nearly a week later I got your answer early in the morning, and it
almost drove me wild. I took it and went for the day with May, and I
told her. She took me upstairs, and we talked it over, and before I left
she made me promise that I would write you and explain how I felt, and
ask you what you thought. She wanted you to come there and see if you
couldn't make them at least respect you. I know I was crying, and she
was bathing the baby. She went to bring something she had forgotten, and
she gave him to me to hold, just his little naked body. He stood on my
lap and mauled my face, and pulled my hair, and hugged me with his stout
little arms and kissed me big, soft, wet kisses, and something sprang to
life in my heart that never before had been there. I just cried all over
him and held him fast, and I couldn't give him up when she came back. I
saw why I'd wanted a big doll all my life, right then; and oh, dear!
the doll you sent was beautiful, but, David, did you ever hold a little,
living child in your arms like that?”
“I never did,” said the Harvester huskily.
He looked at her face and saw the tears rolling, but he could say no
more, so he leaned his head against her knee, and finding one of her
hands he drew it to his lips.
“It is wonderful,” said the Girl softly. “It awakens something in
your heart that makes it all soft and tender, and you feel an awful
responsibility, too. Grandmother had them telephone at last, and May
helped me bathe my face and fix my hat. When we went to the carriage Mr.
Kennedy was there to take me home. We went past grandmother's florist to
get her some violets----David, she is sleeping under yours, with just a
few touching her lips. Oh it was lovely of you to get them; your fairies
must have told you! She has them every day, and one of the objections
she made to coming here was that she couldn't do without them in winter,
and she found some on her pillow the very first thing. David, you are
wonderful! And grandfather with his lily! I know where he found that! I
knew instantly. Ah, there are fairies who tell you, because you deserve
to know.”
The Girl bent and slipping her arm around his neck hugged him tight
an instant, and then she continued unsteadily: “While he was in the
shop----Harvester, this is like your wildest dream, but it's truest
truth----a boy came down the walk crying papers, and as I live, he
called your name. I knew it had to be you because he said, 'First drug
farm in America! Wonderful medicine contributed to the cause of science!
David Langston honoured by National Medical Association!' I just stood
in the carriage and screamed, 'Boy! Boy!' until the coachman thought I
had lost my senses. He whistled and got me the paper. I was shaking so
I asked him how to find anything you wanted quickly, and he pointed the
column where events are listed; and when I found the third page there
was your face so splendidly reproduced, and you seemed so fine and noble
to me I forgot about the dress suit and the badge in your buttonhole,
or to wonder when or how or why it could have happened. I just sat there
shouting in my soul, 'David! David! Medicine Man! Harvester Man!' again
and again.”
“I don't know what I said to Mr. Kennedy or how I got to my room. I
scanned it by the column, at last I got to paragraphs, and finally I
read all the sentences. David, I kissed that newspaper face a hundred
times, and if you could have had those, Man, I think you would have said
they were right. David, there is nothing to cry over!”
“I'm not!” said the Harvester, wiping the splashes from her hand. “But,
Ruth, forget what I said about being brief. I didn't realize what was
coming. I should have said, if you've any mercy at all, go slowly! This
is the greatest thing that ever happened or ever will happen to me. See
that you don't leave out one word of it.”
“I told you I had to tell you first,” said the Girl.
“I understand now,” said the Harvester, his head against her knee while
he pressed her hand to his lips. “I see! Your coming couldn't be perfect
without knowing this first. Go on, dear heart, and slowly! You owe me
every word.”
“When I had it all absorbed, I carried the paper to the library and
said, 'Grandfather, such a wonderful thing has happened. A man has had a
new idea, and he has done a unique work that the whole world is going
to recognize. He has stood before men and made a speech that few, oh
so few, could make honestly, and he has advocated right living, oh
so nobly, and he has given a wonderful gift to science without price,
because through it he first saved the life he loved best. Isn't that
marvellous, grandfather?' And he said, 'Very marvellous, Ruth. Won't
you sit down and read to me about it?' And I said, 'I can't, dear
grandfather, because I have been away from grandmother all day, and
she is fretting for me, and to-night is a great ball, and she has spent
millions on my dress, I think, and there is an especial reason why I
must go, and so I have to see her now; but I want to show you the man's
face, and then you can read the story.'
“You see, I knew if I started to read it he would stop me; but if I left
him alone with it he would be so curious he would finish. So I turned
your name under and held the paper and said, 'What do you think of that
face, grandfather? Study it carefully,' and, Man, only guess what he
said! He said, 'I think it is the face of one of nature's noblemen.' I
just kissed him time and again and then I said, 'So it is grandfather,
so it is; for it is the face of the man who twice saved my life, and
lifted my mother from almost a pauper grave and laid her to rest
in state, and the man who found you, and sent me to you when I was
determined not to come.' And I just stood and kissed that paper before
him and cried, again and again, 'He is one of nature's noblemen, and he
is my husband, my dear, dear husband and to-morrow I am going home
to him.' Then I laid the paper on his lap and ran away. I went to
grandmother and did everything she wanted, then I dressed for the ball.
I went to say good-bye to her and show my dress and grandfather was
there, and he followed me out and said, 'Ruth, you didn't mean it?' I
said, 'Did you read the paper, grandfather?' and he said 'Yes'; and I
said, 'Then I should think you would know I mean it, and glory in my
wonderful luck. Think of a man like that, grandfather!'
“I went to the ball, and I danced and had a lovely time with every one,
because I knew it was going to be the very last, and to-morrow I must
start to you.
“On the way home I told Mr. Kennedy what paper to get and to read it. I
said good-bye to him, and I really think he cared, but I was too happy
to be very sorry. When I reached my room there was a packet for me and,
Man, like David of old, you are a wonderful poet! Oh Harvester! why
didn't you send them to me instead of the cold, hard things you wrote?”
“What do you mean, Ruth?”
“Those letters! Those wonderful outpourings of love and passion and
poetry and song and broken-heartedness. Oh Man, how could you write such
things and throw them in the fire? Granny Moreland found them when she
came to bring you a pie, and she carried them to Doctor Carey, and he
sent them to me, and, David, they finished me. Everything came in a
heap. I would have come without them, but never, never with quite the
understanding, for as I read them the deeps opened up, and the flood
broke, and there did a warm tide go through all my being, like you said
it would; and now, David, I know what you mean by love. I called
the maids and they packed my trunk and grandmother's, and I had
grandfather's valet pack his, and go and secure berths and tickets, and
learn about trains, and I got everything ready, even to the ambulance
and doctor; but I waited until morning to tell them. I knew they would
not let me come alone, so I brought them along. David, what in the world
are we going to do with them?”
The Harvester drew a deep breath and looked at the flushed face of the
Girl.
“With no time to mature a plan, I would say that we are going to love
them, care for them, gradually teach them our work, and interest them in
our plans here; and so soon as they become reconciled we will build them
such a house as they want on the hill facing us, just across Singing
Water, and there they may have every luxury they can provide for
themselves, or we can offer, and the pleasure of your presence, and both
of them can grow strong and happy. I'll have grandmother on her feet in
ten days, and the edge off grandfather's tongue in three. That bluster
of his is to drown tears, Ruth; I saw it to-night. And when they pass
over we will carry them up and lay them beside her under the oak, and
we can take the house we build for them, if you like it better, and use
this for a store-room.”
“Never!” said the Girl. “Never! My sunshine room and gold garden so long
as I live. Never again will I leave them. If this cabin grows too small,
we will build all over the hillside; but my room and garden and this and
the dining-room and your den there must remain as they are now.”
The Harvester arose and drew the davenport before the fireplace, and
heaped pillows. “You are so tired you are trembling, and your voice is
quivering,” he said. He lifted the Girl, laid her down and arranged the
coverlet.
“Go to sleep!” he ordered gently. “You have made me so wildly happy that
I could run and shout like a madman. Try to rest, and maybe the fairies
who aid me will put my kiss back on your lips. I am going to the hill
top to tell mother and my God.”
He knelt and gathered her in his arms a second, then called Belshazzar
to guard, and went into the sweet spring night, to jubilate with that
wild surge of passion that sweeps the heart of a strong man when he is
most nearly primal. He climbed the hill at a rush, and standing beneath
the oak on the summit, he faced the lake, and stretching his arms
widely, he waved them, merely to satisfy the demand for action. When
urgency for expression came upon him, he laughed a deep rumble of
exultation.
The night wind swept the lake and lifted his hair, the odour of spring
was intoxicating in his nostrils, small creatures of earth stirred
around him, here and there a bird, restless in the delirium of mating
fever, lifted its head and piped a few notes on the moon-whitened air.
The frogs sang uninterruptedly at the water's edge. The Harvester stood
rejoicing. Beating on his brain came a rush of love words uttered in the
Girl's dear voice. “I wanted you! Just you! He is my husband! My dear,
dear husband! To-morrow I am going home! Now, David, I know what you
mean by love!” The Harvester laughed again and sounds around him ceased
for a second, then swelled in fuller volume than before. He added his
voice. “Thank God! Oh, thank God!” he cried. “And may the Author of the
Universe, the spirits of the little mothers who loved us, and all the
good fairies who guide us, unite to bring unbounded joy to my Dream Girl
and to guard her safely.”
The cocks of Medicine Woods began their second salute to dawn. At this
sound and with the mention of her name, the Harvester turned down the
hill, and striding forcefully approached the cabin. As he passed the
Girl's room he stepped softly, smiling as he wondered if its unexpected
occupants were resting. He followed Singing Water, and stood looking at
the hillside, studying the exact location most suitable for a home for
the old people he was so delighted to welcome. That they would remain
he never doubted. His faith in the call of the wild had been verified in
the Girl; it would reach them also. The hill top would bind them. Their
love for the Girl would compel them. They would be company for her and a
new interest in life.
“Couldn't be better, not possibly!” commented the delighted Harvester.
He followed the path down Singing Water until he reached the bridge
where it turned into the marsh. There he paused, looking straight ahead.
“Wonder if I would frighten her?” he mused. “I believe I'll risk it.”
He walked on rapidly, vaulted the fence enclosing his land, crossed the
road, and unlatched the gate. As he did so, the door opened, and Granny
Moreland stood on the sill, waiting with keen eyes.
“Well I don't need neither specs nor noonday sun to see that you're
steppin' like the blue ribbon colt at the County Fair, and lookin' like
you owned Kingdom Come,” she said. “What's up, David?”
“You are right, dear,” said the Harvester. “I have entered my kingdom.
The Girl has come and crowned me with her love. She had decided to
return, but the letters you sent made her happier about it. I wanted you
to know.”
Granny leaned against the casing, and began to sob unrestrainedly.
The Harvester supported her tenderly.
“Why don't do that, dear. Don't cry,” he begged. “The Girl is home for
always, Granny, and I'm so happy I am out to-night trying to keep from
losing my mind with joy. She will come to you to-morrow, I know.”
Granny tremulously dried her eyes.
“What an old sap-head I am!” she commented. “I stole your letters from
your fireplace, pitched a willer plate into the lake----you got to fish
that out, come day, David----fooled you into that trip to Doc Carey to
get him to mail them to Ruth, and never turned a hair. But after I got
home I commenced thinkin' 'twas a pretty ticklish job to stick your nose
into other people's business, an' every hour it got worse, until I ain't
had a fairly decent sleep since. If you hadn't come soon, boy, I'd 'a'
been sick a-bed. Oh, David! Are you sure she's over there, and loves you
to suit you now?”
“Yes dear, I am absolutely certain,” said the Harvester. “She was so
determined to come that she brought the invalid grandmother she couldn't
leave and her grandfather. They arrived at midnight. We are all going to
live together now.”
“Well bless my stars! Fetched you a family! David, I do hope to all
that's peaceful I hain't put my foot in it. The moon is the deceivingest
thing on earth I know, but does her family 'pear to be an a-gre'-able
family, by its light?”
The Harvester's laugh boomed a half mile down the road.
“Finest people on earth, next to you, dear. I'm mighty glad to have
them. I'm going to build them a house on my best location, and we are
all going to be happy from now on. Go to bed! This night air may chill
you. I can't sleep. I wanted you to know first----so I came over. In
mother's stead, will you kiss me, and wish me happiness, dear friend?”
Granny Moreland laid an eager, withered hand on each shoulder, and bent
to the radiant young face.
“God bless you, lad, and grant you as great happiness as life ort to
fetch every clean, honest man,” she prayed fervently, with closed eyes
and her lined old face turned skyward. “And, O God, bless Ruth, and help
her as You never helped mortal woman before to know her own mind without
'variableness, neither shadow of turnin'.'”
The Harvester was on Singing Water bridge before he gave way. There he
laughed as never before in his life. Finally he controlled himself
and started toward the cabin; but he was chuckling as he passed the
driveway, and walked down the broad cement floor leading to his bathing
pool, where the moonlight bridged the lake, and fell as a benediction
all around him.
He stood a long time, when he recognized the familiar crash of a
breaking backlog falling together, and heard the customary leap of the
frightened dog. He walked to his door and listened intently, but there
was no sound; so he decided the Girl had not been awakened. In the midst
of a whitening sheet of gold the Harvester dropped to his stoop and
leaned his head against the broad casing. He broke a twig from a
hawthorn bush beside him, and sat twisting it in his fingers as
he stared down the line of the gold bridge. Never had it seemed so
material, so like a path that might be trodden by mortal feet and lead
them straight to Heaven. As on the hill top, night again surrounded him
and the Harvester's soul drank deep wild draughts of a new joy. Sleep
was out of the question. He was too intensely alive to know that he ever
again could be weary. He sat there in the moonlight, and with unbridled
heart gloried in the joy that had come to him.
He turned his face from the bridge as he heard the click of Belshazzar's
nails on the floor of the bathing pool. Then his heart and breath
stopped an instant. Beside the dog walked the Girl, one hand on his head
the other holding the flowing white robe around her and grasping one of
the Harvester's lilies. His first thought was sheer amazement that she
was not afraid, for it was evident now that the backlog had awakened
her, and she had taken the dog and gone to her mother. Then she had
followed the path leading down the hill, around the cabin, and into the
sheet of moonlight gilding the shore. She stood there gazing over
the lake, oblivious to all things save the entrancing allurement of
a perfect spring night beside undulant water. Screened from her with
bushes and trees the Harvester scarcely breathed lest he startle her.
Then his head swam, and his still heart leaped wildly. She was coming
toward him. On her left lay the path to the hill top. A few steps
farther she could turn to the right and follow the driveway to the front
of the cabin. He leaned forward watching in an agony of suspense. Her
beautiful face was transfigured with joy, aflame with love, radiant with
smiles, and her tall figure fleecy white, rimmed in gold. Up the shining
path of light she steadily advanced toward his door. Then the Harvester
understood, and from his exultant heart burst the wordless petition:
“LORD GOD ALMIGHTY, HELP ME TO BE A MAN!”
With outstretched arms he arose to meet her.
“My Dream Girl!” he cried hoarsely. “My Dream Girl!”
“Coming, Harvester!” she answered in tones of joy, as she dropped the
white flower and lifted her hands to draw his face toward her.
“Is that the kiss you wanted?” she questioned.
“Yes, Ruth,” breathed the Harvester.
“Then I am ready to be your wife,” she said. “May I share all the
remainder of life's joys and sorrows with you?”
The Harvester gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bench on
the lake shore. He wrapped the white robe around her and clasped her
tenderly as behooved a lover, yet with arms that she knew could have
crushed her had they willed. The minutes slipped away, and still he held
her to his heart, the reality far surpassing his dream; for he knew that
he was awake, and he realized this as the supreme hour that comes to the
strongman who knows his love requited.
When the first banner of red light arose above Medicine Woods and
Singing Water the cocks on the hillside announced the dawn. As the gold
faded to gray, a burst of bubbling notes swelled from a branch almost
over their heads where stood a bark-enclosed little house.
“Ruth, do you hear that?” asked the Harvester softly.
“Yes,” she answered, “and I see it. A wonderful bird, with Heaven's
deepest blue on its back and a breast like a russet autumn leaf, came
straight up the lake from the south, and before it touched the limb that
song seemed to gush from its throat.”
“And for that reason, the greatest nature lover who ever lived says
that it 'deserves preeminence.' It always settles from its long voyage
through the air in an ecstasy of melody. Do you know what it is, Ruth?”
The Girl laid a hand on his cheek and turned his eyes from the bird to
her face as she answered, “Yes, Harvester-man, I know. It is your first
bluebird----but it is far too late, and Belshazzar has lost high office.
I have usurped both their positions. You remain in the woods and reap
their harvest, you enter the laboratory and make wonderful, life-giving
medicines, you face the world and tell men of the high and holy life
they may live if they will, and then----always and forever, you come
back to Medicine Woods and to me, Harvester.”