The Harvester Part 67

"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 pa.s.sed 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."