The Harvester Part 66

"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 cl.u.s.ters 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 s.p.a.ce 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 G.o.d. 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 ma.s.s 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.

"G.o.d, 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 pa.s.senger 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 rea.s.suring 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 s.h.a.ggy 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 pa.s.sed 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.