The Harvester Part 31

"I'll have to ask you to wait a minute," he said. "One thing I forgot. I must hire a man to take Betsy home."

"Aren't you going to drive her yourself?"

"No ma'am! We are going in a carriage or a motor," said the Harvester.

"Indeed we are not!" contradicted the Girl. "You have had this all your way so far. I am going home behind Betsy, with Belshazzar at my knee."

"But your dress! People will think I am crazy to put a lovely woman like you in a spring wagon."

"Let them!" said the Girl placidly. "Why should we bother about other people? I am going with Betsy and Belshazzar."

The Harvester had been thinking that he adored her, that it was impossible to love her more, but every minute was proving to him that he was capable of feeling so profound it startled him. To carry the Girl, his bride, through the valley and up the hill in the little spring wagon drawn by Betsy--that would have been his ideal way. But he had supposed that she would be afraid of soiling her dress, and embarra.s.sed to ride in such a conveyance. Instead it was her choice. Yes, he could love her more. Hourly she was proving that.

"Come this way a few steps," he said. "Betsy is here."

The Girl laid her face against the nose of the faithful old animal, and stroked her head and neck. Then she held her skirts and the Harvester helped her into the wagon. She took the seat, and the dog went wild with joy.

"Come on, Bel," she softly commanded.

The dog hesitated, and looked at the Harvester for permission.

"You may come here and put your head on my knee," said the Girl.

"Belshazzar, you lucky dog, you are privileged to sit there and lay your head on the lady's lap," said the Harvester, and the dog quivered with joy.

Then the man picked up the lines, gave a backward glance to the bed of the wagon, high piled with large bundles, and turned Betsy toward Medicine Woods. Through the crowded streets and toward the country they drove, when a big red car pa.s.sed, a man called to them, then reversed and slowly began backing beside the wagon. The Harvester stopped.

"That is my best friend, Doctor Carey, of the hospital, Ruth," he said hastily. "May I tell him, and will you shake hands with him?"

"Certainly!" said the Girl.

"Is it really you, David?" the doctor peered with gleaming eyes from under the car top.

"Really!" cried the Harvester, as man greets man with a full heart when he is sure of sympathy. "Come, give us your best send-off, Doc! We were married an hour ago. We are headed for Medicine Woods. Doctor Carey, this is Mrs. Langston."

"Mighty glad to know you!" cried the doctor, reaching a happy hand.

The Girl met it cordially, while she smiled on him.

"How did this happen?" demanded the doctor. "Why didn't you let us know?

This is hardly fair of you, David. You might have let me and the Missus share with you."

"That is to be explained," said the Harvester. "It was decided on very suddenly, and rather sadly, on account of the death of Mrs. Jameson. I forced Ruth to marry me and come with me. I grow rather frightened when I think of it, but it was the only way I knew. She absolutely refused my other plans. You see before you a wild man carrying away a woman to his cave."

"Don't believe him, Doctor!" laughed the Girl. "If you know him, you will understand that to offer all he had was like him, when he saw my necessity. You will come to see us soon?"

"I'll come right now," said the doctor. "I'll bring my wife and arrive by the time you do."

"Oh no you won't!" said the Harvester. "Do you observe the bed of this wagon? This happened all 'unbeknownst' to us. We have to set up housekeeping after we reach home. We will notify you when we are ready for visitors. Just you subside and wait until you are sent for."

"Why David!" cried the astonished Girl.

"That's the law!" said the Harvester tersely. "Good-bye, Doc; we'll be ready for you in a day or two."

He leaned down and held out his hand. The grip that caught it said all any words could convey; and then Betsy started up the hill.

CHAPTER XIII. WHEN THE DREAM CAME TRUE

At first the road lay between fertile farms dotted with shocked wheat, covered with undulant seas of ripening oats, and forests of growing corn. The larks were trailing melody above the shorn and growing fields, the quail were ingathering beside the fences, and from the forests on graceful wings slipped the nighthawks and sailed and soared, dropping so low that the half moons formed by white spots on their spread wings showed plainly.

"Why is this country so different from the other side of the city?"

asked the Girl.

"It is older," replied the Harvester, "and it lies higher. This was settled and well cultivated when that was a swamp. But as a farming proposition, the money is in the lowland like your uncle's. The crops raised there are enormous compared with the yield of these fields."

"I see," said she. "But this is much better to look at and the air is different. It lacks a soggy, depressing quality."

"I don't allow any air to surpa.s.s that of Medicine Woods," said the Harvester, "by especial arrangement with the powers that be."

Then they dipped into a little depression and arose to cross the railroad and then followed a longer valley that was ragged and unkempt compared with the road between cultivated fields. The Harvester was busy trying to plan what to do first, and how to do it most effectively, and working his brain to think if he had everything the Girl would require for her comfort; so he drove silently through the deepening shadows. She shuddered and awoke him suddenly. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Her thoughts had gone on a journey, also, and the way had been rough, for her face wore a strained appearance. The hands lying bare in her lap were tightly gripped, so that the nails and knuckles appeared blue.

The Harvester hastily cast around seeking for the cause of the transformation. A few minutes ago she had seemed at ease and comfortable, now she was close open panic. Nothing had been said that would disturb her. With brain alert he searched for the reason. Then it began to come to him. The unaccustomed silence and depression of the country might have been the beginning. Coming from the city and crowds of people to the gloomy valley with a man almost a stranger, going she knew not where, to conditions she knew not what, with the experiences of the day vivid before her. The black valley road was not prepossessing, with its border of green pools, through which grew swamp bushes and straggling vines. The Harvester looked carefully at the road, and ceased to marvel at the Girl. But he disliked to let her know he understood, so he gave one last glance at those gripped hands and casually held out the lines.

"Will you take these just a second?" he asked. "Don't let them touch your dress. We must not lose of our load, because it's mostly things that will make you more comfortable."

He arose, and turning, pretended to see that everything was all right.

Then he resumed his seat and drove on.

"I am a little ashamed of this stretch through here," he said apologetically. "I could have managed to have it cleared and in better shape long ago, but in a way it yields a snug profit, and so far I've preferred the money. The land is not mine, but I could grub out this growth entirely, instead of taking only what I need."

"Is there stuff here you use?" the Girl aroused herself to ask, and the Harvester saw the look of relief that crossed her face at the sound of his voice.

"Well I should say yes," he laughed. "Those bushes, numerous everywhere, with the hanging yellow-green b.a.l.l.s, those, in bark and root, go into fever medicines. They are not so much used now, but sometimes I have a call, and when I do, I pa.s.s the beds on my----on our land, and come down here and get what is needed. That bush," he indicated with the whip, "blooms exquisitely in the spring. It is a relative of flowering dogwood, and the one of its many names I like best is silky cornel.

Isn't that pretty?"

"Yes," she said, "it is beautiful."

"I've planted some for you in a hedge along the driveway so next spring you can gather all you want. I think you'll like the odour. The bark brings more than true dogwood. If I get a call from some house that uses it, I save mine and come down here. Around the edge are hop trees, and I realize something from them, and also the false and true bitter-sweet that run riot here. Both of them have pretty leaves, while the berries of the true hang all winter and the colour is gorgeous. I've set your hedge closely with them. When it has grown a few months it's going to furnish flowers in the spring, a million different, wonderful leaves and berries in the summer, many fruits the birds love in the fall, and bright berries, queer seed pods, and nuts all winter."

"You planted it for me?"

"Yes. I think it will be beautiful in a season or two; it isn't so bad now. I hope it will call myriads of birds to keep you company. When you cross this stretch of road hereafter, don't see fetid water and straggling bushes and vines; just say to yourself, this helps to fill orders!"

"I am perfectly tolerant of it now," she said. "You make everything different. I will come with you and help collect the roots and barks you want. Which bush did you say relieved the poor souls scorching with fever?"

The Harvester drew on the lines, Betsy swerved to the edge of the road, and he leaned and broke a branch.