The Harvester Part 23

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 G.o.ds 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 a.s.sure 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 gla.s.s, 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 a.s.sured 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 gla.s.s, 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 gla.s.s and a spoon," he said.

The Girl brought them.